Who is so firm that can't be seduced?
What a piece of work is a man
O, she's warm! If this be magic, let it be an art Lawful as eating.
You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, As full of grief as age; wretched in both.
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red.
Murder most foul, as in the best it it; But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.