Was the hope drunk / Wherein you dress’d yourself? Hath it slept since? / And wakes it now, to look so green and pale / At what it did so freely?

A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, / And yet I would not sleep. Merciful powers, / Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature / Gives way to in repose!

I dreamt last night of the three Weird Sisters: / To you they have show’d some truth.

Had he not resembled / My father as he slept, I had done’t.—

To show an unfelt sorrow is an office / Which the false man does easy.

The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood / Is stopp’d; the very source of it is stopp’d.

What should be spoken here, where our fate, / Hid in an auger hole, may rush, and seize us? / Let’s away. Our tears are not yet brew’d.

There’s warrant in that theft / Which steals itself, when there’s no mercy left.

But this place is too cold for hell. I'll devil-porter it no further: I had thought to have let in some of all professions, that go the primrose way to th' everlasting bonfire.

The obscure bird / Clamour’d the live-long night. Some say the earth / Was feverous, and did shake.