Downy Sleep, Death's Counterfeit.

Hal, If I Tell Thee A Lie, Spit In My Face, Call Me Horse.

Unnatural Deeds Do Breed Unnatural Troubles: Infected Minds To Their Deaf Pillows Will Discharge Their Secrets.

A Wicked Conscience Mouldeth Goblins Swift As Frenzy Thoughts.

Think, When We Talk Of Horses, That You See Them Printing Their Proud Hoofs I' The Receiving Earth.

They Are Sick That Surfeit With Too Much, As They That Starve With Nothing.