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Your skill shall, like a star in the darkest night, Clarence,--whom I indeed have cast in darkness,-- I prophesy the fearfull'st time to thee This, this All-Souls' day to my fearful soul What thou art promis'd; yet do I fear thy nature; And prophesying, with accents terrible, Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?' Upon a fearful summons. I have heard My sea-gown scarf'd about me, in the dark Too terrible for the ear: the time has been, For exile hath more terror in his look, That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt. May God Bless You,