• Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe
    That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow.
    Come, mourn with me for what I do lament,
    And put sullen black incontinent.
    I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land
    To wash this blood off from my guilty hand.
    March sadly after. Grace my mournings here
    In weeping after this untimely bier.

    William Shakespeare (2013). “Histories of Shakespeare in Plain and Simple English (a Modern Translation and the Original Version)”, p.336, BookCaps Study Guides