Tis safter to be that which we destroy Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.
Fair is foul, and foul is fair, hover through fog and filthy air.
If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well. It were done quickly.
Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return to plague the inventor.
When our actions do not, our fears make us traitors.
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.
There's husbandry in heaven; Their candles are all out.
It will have blood, they say; blood will have blood.
So foul and fair a day I have not seen.