We will have rings and things and fine array
As he was valiant, I honour him. But as he was ambitious, I slew him.
My nature is subdued to what it works in, like the dyer's hand.
Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return to plague the inventor.
Under the colour of commending him I have access my own love to prefer; But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy, To be corrupted with my worthless gifts.
Then imitate the action of the tiger; stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood.