And oftentimes excusing of a fault doth make the fault the worse by the excuse.
Is this a vision? Is this a dream? Do I sleep?
You take my life when you do take the means whereby I live
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.
Oh, I am fortune's fool!
Why, I can smile and murder whiles I smile, And cry 'content' to that which grieves my heart, And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, And frame my face for all occasions