moe-004 (Patreon)

Your father's sickness is a maim to us.

Hot. A perilous gash, a very limb lopp'd off.

And yet, in faith, it is not! His present want

Seems more than we shall find it. Were it good

To set the exact wealth of all our states

All at one cast? to set so rich a man

On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour?

It were not good; for therein should we read

The very bottom and the soul of hope,

The very list, the very utmost bound

Of all our fortunes.

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