The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo.

Murder's out of tune, and sweet revenge grows harsh

Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song, That old and antique song we heard last night. Methought it did relieve my passion much, More than light airs and recollected terms Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times. Come, but one verse.

I understand a fury in your words,
But not the words.

The heavens themselves, the planets and this centre
Observe degree, priority and place.

What is your substance, whereof are you made,
That millions of strange shadows on you tend?