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Even now, I curse the day. And yet I think few come within the compass of my curse.
Wherein I did not some notorious ill as kill a man. Or else devise his death.
Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it.
Accuse some innocent, and forswear myself.
Make poor mens cattle break their necks.
Set fires on barns and haystacks in the night and bid the owners quench them with their tears

Oft, have I digged up dead men and sat them upright at their dear friends doors; even when their sorrows almost was forgot.
And on their skins; as on the barks of trees; have with my knife carved in Roman letters
"Let not thy sorrow die, though I am dead."

I have done a thousand dreadful things as willingly as one would kill a fly
And nothing grieves me heartily indeed; but that I cannot do ten thousand more

COMMENTS

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Zarr
01:07 Jun 06 2024

Just consider all that was done to you and yours.

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