Hamlet Cries !
I trade thy soul in grieved rage; in notes of despair of thy shade ! Flatter her with blood of thy breath, madness, your'st thirst dream as grand-sire ! Come hither, she whispers in candles; no less king, you are with her sore kisses ! Therein, find of those bitter lost glory, wretches heartbeat of dead temple story ! Miseries plague's thy soul for she is hell, credulous fool shall bid poison in farewell ! Venus, has escaped this morning sky, swell'd shrine- wiving thy death, upon time: she cries !