Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind; the thief doth fear each bush an officer.
All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand! Oh, oh, oh!
They whose guilt within their bosom lies, imagine every eye beholds their blame.
My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent.
We make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars; as if we were villians by compulsion.
So full of artless jealousy is guilt, It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.
I am in blood Stepp'd in so far, that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er.
And then it started like a guilty thingUpon a fearful summons.
The guilt being great, the fear doth still exceed; And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly, But coward-like with trembling terror die
Glory grows guilty of detested crimes.
Guiltiness will speak, though tongues were out of use
A wicked conscience mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy thoughts.
The mind of guilt is full of scorpions.