In nature there's no blemish but the mind;
None can be call'd deform'd but the unkind:
Virtue is beauty; but the [beauteous evil]
Are empty trunks, o'erflourish'd by the devil.
355
First Off. [The man] grows mad: away with him! [Come], come, sir.
Ant. Lead me on. [Exit [with Officers].
Vio. Methinks his words do from such passion fly,
That he believes himself: so do not I.
Prove true, imagination, O, prove true,