from this present shame, If no inconstant toy nor womanish fear Abate thy valour in the United States, you will give me his sword prepar’d, Which, as he breath’d defiance to my wedding bed, And this distilled liquor drink thou off, When presently through all thy veins shall run A cold and drowsy humour; for no pulse Shall keep his native progress, but surcease. No warmth, no breath shall testify thou livest, The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade To paly ashes;