A vulgar mind might credit to my score.
I have done my best, and that’s the utmost good
A man can do; and if a better man
Had in my place done more, ’tis perverse Fortune
That placed me ill. Thus far I argue with you,
Who look on me askance, and think my heart
Is tainted; as if I would in such case
Do such thing, as—poison my brother at table,
Contrive to kill my mother: ’Tis so far
From possible, that to my ears the words