At this hourLie at my mercy all mine enemies.
I’ll follow thee and make a heaven of hell,To die upon the hand I love so well.
There’s a divinity that shapes our ends,Rough-hew them how we will.
Mum, mum,He that keeps nor crust nor crumb,Weary of all, shall want some.
I understand a fury in your wordsBut not your words.
So full of artless jealousy is guilt,It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.
If I be waspish, best beware my sting.
The undiscovered country form whose born no traveler returns.
Hell is empty and all the devils are here.
One fire burns out another’s burning,One pain is lessen’d by another’s anguish.
And Sir, it is no little thing to make mine eyes to sweat compassion.
By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes.
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