my soul is the chance and i will not blame chance
she is the cause howecer i will not hurt her
It is the cause.--Yet I'll not shed her blood;
her skin is as beautiful as white stone

[Takes off his sword.]

she should die or else she might hurt another man
i will put out the light and then kill her

I can again thy former light restore,
Should I repent me:--but once put out thy light,
Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature,
I know not where is that Promethean heat
That can thy light relume. When I have pluck'd thy rose,
I cannot give it vital growth again,
It must needs wither:--I'll smell it on the tree.--