(..) And what judgment would step from this to this? What devil was it that thus hath cozened you at blind man's buff? Oh shame, where is thy blush? Rebellious hell, if thou canst mutiny in a matron's bones to flaming youth... ...let virtue be as wax and melt in her own fire Oh speak no more. (..)

(..) mothers, daughters, sons And thus o'er-sized with coagulate gore, the hellish Pyrrhus old grandsire Priam seeks So proceed you His antique sword, rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls, rejecting all command Unequal matched, Pyrrhus at Priam drives, in rage strikes wide (..)