How all occasions do inform against me

And spur my dull revenge. What is a man

If his chief good and market of his time

Be but to sleep and feed? A beast – no more.

Sure he that made us with such large discourse,

Looking before and after, gave us not

That capability and godlike reason

To fust in us unused. Now whether it be

Bestial oblivion or some craven scruple

Of thinking too precisely on th’event

(A thought which quartered hath but one part wisdom

And ever three parts coward) I do not know

Why yet I live to say this thing’s to do,

Sith I have cause and will and strength and means

To do’t. Examples gross as earth exhort me –

Witness this army of such mass and charge,

Led by a delicate and tender prince

Whose spirit with divine ambition puffed

Makes mouths at the invisible event

Exposing what is mortal and unsure