"Hark! I laid their daggers ready; He could not miss 'em. Had he not resembled my father as he slept, I had done't" (Shakespeare 2.2.11-13).
"Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red" (Shakespeare 2.2.64-67).
"His silver skin laced with golden blood, and his gashed stabs looked like a breach in nature for ruin's wasteful entrance; there the murderers, steeped in the colors of their trade, their daggers unmannerly breeched with gore" (Shakespeare 2.3.114-118).