It is the cowish terror of his spirit that dares not undertake; he'll not feel wrongs which tie him to an answer.

I have pursued her, as love hath pursued me

Praise us as we are tasted, allow us as we prove.

Nothing 'gainst Times scythe can make defence.

Farewell! a long farewell to all my greatness!

Tis now the very witching time of night, when churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world.

Give me my sin again.