Haste me to know't, that I, with wings as swift/ as meditation or the thoughts of love/ may sweep to my revenge
That guilty creatures sitting at a play/ have, by the very cunning of the scene/ been struck to the soul that presently/ they have proclaimed their malefactions/ for murder though it have no tongue will speak/ with most miraculous organ
Now might I do it plot. Now he is praying. And now I'll do't. And so he goes to heaven. And so am I revenged.
My thoughts be bloody or be nothing worth
Does it not think thee stand me now upon-/ he that hath killed my king and whored my mother