O that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth! Then with passion would I shake the world.

O wretched state! O bosom black as death! O limed soul that, struggling to be free, art more engaged! Help, angels! Make assay! Bow, stubborn knees! and, heart with strings of steel, be soft as sinews of the new-born babe!

Yea from the table of my memory I'll wipe away all trivial fond records.

Foul cankering rust the hidden treasure frets, but gold that's put to use more gold begets.

Well, heaven forgive him! and forgive us all! Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall: Some run from brakes of ice, and answer none: And some condemned for a fault alone.

So, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends, and Robin shall restore amends.

I have a kind soul that would give you thanks. And knows not how to do it but with tears.