Gon. (in a low desponding voice.) Now my life
Is struck to worthless ashes!—In my soul
Suspicion hath ta’en root. The nobleness
Henceforth is blotted from all human brows;
And fearful power, a dark and troublous gift,
Almost like prophecy, is pour’d upon me,
To read the guilty secrets in each eye
That once look’d bright with truth!
Why, then, I have gain’d
What men call wisdom!—A new sense, to which