Blood will have blood.
This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-Paradise.
The soul of this man is his clothes.
He's loved of the distracted multitude, who like not in their judgement, but their eyes.
So curses all Eve's daughters of what complexion soever.
Wisely, and slow. They stumble that run fast.