If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep,
Being o’er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep
And kill me too.
The sun was not so true unto the day
As he to me. Would he have stolen away
From sleeping Hermia? I’ll believe as soon
This whole Earth may be bored, and that the moon
May through the centre creep and so displease
Her brother’s noontide with th’ Antipodes.
It cannot be but thou hast murdered him.
So should a murderer look, so dead, so grim.
– William Shakespeare