And—e’en as boy I ever sent a bird
A chasing dart if it outflew my range.
Mar.
Speak not of sentience foreshadowing, speak
Of fear alone. You trembled at the thing
That you deserved. It is the way of man.
You can no longer trust the sister, since you
Have done to death the brother; all that’s grossest
Your sullying mind imputes and thinks that I
Must give response, yea, and out-Herod you.