In life so fatally distinguish’d, why
Cast in one lot, confounded, lump’d, in death?
“Ere yet in being, was mankind in guilt? 750
Why thunder’d this peculiar clause against us,
All-mortal, and all-wretched!—Have the skies
Reasons of state, their subjects may not scan,
Nor humbly reason, when they sorely sigh?
All-mortal, and all-wretched!—’Tis too much:
Unparallell’d in nature: ’tis too much
On being unrequested at thy hands,