The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo.
so full of shapes is fancy
As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods; they kill us for their sport.
The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was.
So many horrid Ghosts.
I have a kind soul that would give you thanks. And knows not how to do it but with tears.