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- “LUCIUS. Art thou not sorry for these heinous deeds?
- AARON. Ay, that I had not done a thousand more.
- 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;
- Set deadly enmity between two friends;
- Make poor men's cattle break their necks;
- Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night,
- And bid the owners quench them with their tears.
- Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves,
- And set them upright at their dear friends' door
- Even when their sorrows almost was forgot,
- And on their skins, as on the bark of trees,
- Have with my knife carved in Roman letters
- 'Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.'
- Tut, 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.”
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