Where every something, being blent together turns to a wild of nothing.
By that sin fell the angels.
Manhood is melted into courtesies, valor into compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones, too.
Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes.
Men at some time are masters of their fates.
Speak of me as I am. Nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice.