Unsought; but thee beseems more high revenge.
Come, spiteful fiends, come, heaps of furies fell,
Not one by one, but all at once! my breast
Raves not enough: it likes me to be fill’d
With greater monsters yet. My heart doth throb,
My liver boils: somewhat my mind portends,
Uncertain what; but whatsoever, it’s huge.
So it exceed, be what it will, it’s well.
Omit no plague, and none will be enough:
Wrong cannot be reveng’d but by excess.