[180] The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight.
[♦] Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.
[♦] What do I fear? myself? there’s none else by:
[♦] Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.
Is there a murderer here? No. Yes, I am:
[185] Then fly. What, from myself? Great reason why:
[♦] Lest I revenge. What, myself upon myself?
[♦] Alack, I love myself. Wherefore? for any good
[♦] That I myself have done unto myself?
O, no! alas, I rather hate myself