But in this kind to come, in braving arms,Be his own carver and cut out his way,To find out right with wrong, it may not be.

Eyes, look your last!Arms, take your last embrace!

This was the most unkindest cut of all.

If I must die,I will encounter darkness as a bride,And hug it in mine arms.

When he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night and pay no worship to the garish sun.

I must be cruel, only to be kind.