There are many events in the womb of time which will be delivered.
But no perfection is so absolute, That some impurity doth not pollute.
You are strangely troublesome.
... I am At war 'twixt will and will not.
Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle!
O comfort-killing night, image of hell, Dim register and notary of shame, Black stage for tragedies and murders fell, Vast sin-concealing chaos, nurse of blame!