Theatre Of Tragedy

LK: Be my kin free fro varnal sin,
Bridle the thoughts of thy Master.
R: There hath past away a glore fro the Earth;
A glore that in the hearts and minds of men,
Men dementd - blindfoldd by light,
Hourisheth as weed in their well-groom'd garths.
Might I too was blindfoldd ere,
Tho' years have master'd me
A masque of this lo fashion:
Ser blest, thou best philosopher!
LK: The quality of mercy and absolution,
Whence cometh such qualities?
Build thyself a mirror in which
Solely wanton images of thy desrie appear!
R: 'Tis the Divine Comedy -
The fool and the mocking court:
Fool, kneel now, and ring thy bells!: