O mischief, thou art swift to enter in the thoughts of desperate men!
And therefore is love said to be a child, Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd
For naught so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give.
Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow.
As you from crimes would pardon'd be, Let your indulgence set me free.
Opinion crowns with an imperial voice.