My hair be fix'd on end, as one distract; Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban: Q. Mar. Enough, sweet Suffolk; thou torment'st thyself; And these dread curses, like the sun 'gainst glass, "Or like an overcharged gun,-recoil, And turn the force of them upon thyself. Suf. You bade me ban, and will you bid me leave? Now, by the ground that I am banish'd from, Q. Mar. O, let me entreat thee, cease! Give me thy hand, "That I may dew it with my mournful tears; 66 Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place, To wash away my woful monuments. 'O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand; [kisses his hand. "That thou mightst think upon these by the seal, |