Blood hath been shed ere now, i' th' olden time,
Ere humane stature purged the gentle weal;
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Blood hath been shed ere now, i' th' olden time,
Ere humane stature purged the gentle weal;
Ay, and since too, murders have been performed
Too terrible for the ear. The time has been
That, when the brains were out, the man would die,
And there an end. But now they rise again,
With twenty mortal murders on their crowns,
And push us from our stools. This is more strange
Than such a murder is.

Every unpunished murder takes away something from the security of every man's life.

Every unpunished murder takes away something from the security of every man's life.

Erroneous vassals! the great King of Kings
Hath in the table of his law commanded
That thou read more

Erroneous vassals! the great King of Kings
Hath in the table of his law commanded
That thou shalt do no murder. Will you then
Spurn at his edict, and fulfil a man's?

For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak
With most miraculous organ.

For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak
With most miraculous organ.

O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth,
That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!
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O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth,
That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!
Thou art the ruins of the noblest man
That ever lived in the tide of times.
Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood!

Nor is there any law more just, than that he who has plotted
death shall perish by his own read more

Nor is there any law more just, than that he who has plotted
death shall perish by his own plot.
[Lat., Neque enim lex est aequior ulla,
Quam necis artifices arte perire sua.]

One to destroy is murder by the law,
And gibbets keep the lifted hand in awe;
To read more

One to destroy is murder by the law,
And gibbets keep the lifted hand in awe;
To murder thousands takes a specious name,
War's glorious art, and gives immortal fame.

Blood, though it sleep a time, yet never dies.
The gods on murtherers fix revengeful eyes.

Blood, though it sleep a time, yet never dies.
The gods on murtherers fix revengeful eyes.

Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather
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Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather
The multitudinous seas incarnadine,
Making the green one red.