Why, even in that was heaven ordinant. I had my father’s signet in my purse, Which was the model of that Danish seal; Folded the writ up in form of the other, Subscribed it, gave’t the impression, placed it safely, The changeling never known. Now, the next day Was our sea-fight; and what to this was sequent Thou know’st already.

Why, man, they did make love to this employment; They are not near my conscience; their defeat Does by their own insinuation grow: ’Tis dangerous when the baser nature comes Between the pass and fell incensed points Of mighty opposites.

Does it not, think’st thee, stand me now upon⁠— He that hath kill’d my king and whored my mother, Popp’d in between the election and my hopes, Thrown out his angle for my proper life, And with such cozenage⁠—is’t not perfect conscience, To quit him with this arm? and is’t not to be damn’d, To let this canker of our nature come In further evil?