You common cry of curs, whose breath i hate as reeks of the rotten fens, whose loves i prize as the dead carcasses of unburied men that do corrupt my air. I… banish… you!
And here remain with your uncertainty. Let every feeble rumor shake your hearts. Your enemies, with nodding of their caps, fan you into despair. Have the power still to banish your defenders, till at length your ignorance, which finds not till it feels, making but reservation of yourselves, still your own foes deliver you as most abated captives to some nation that won you without blows.
Despising, for you, the city… …thus… i turn my back.
There is a world… elsewhere.