. . from this moment The very firstlings of my heart shall be The firstlings of my hand. And even now, To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done.

We came into the world like brother and brother, And now let's go hand in hand, not one before another.

All pity choked with custom of fell deeds.

There is no sure foundation set on blood, No certain life achieved by others' death.

O, grief hath changed me since you saw me last, And careful hours with Time's deformed hand Have written strange defeatures in my face. But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice?

...lest too light winning make the prize light.

To weep is to make less the depth of grief.