Read it through once

Imo. Why, I must dye: And if I do not by thy hand, thou art No Seruant of thy Masters. Against Selfe-slaughter, There is a prohibition so Diuine, That crauens my weake hand: Come, heere's my heart: Something's a-foot: Soft, soft, wee'l no defence, Obedient as the Scabbard. What is heere, The Scriptures of the Loyall Leonatus, All turn'd to Heresie? Away, away Corrupters of my Faith, you shall no more Be Stomachers to my heart: thus may pooru Fooles Beleeue false Teachers: Though those that are betraid Do feele the Treason sharpely, yet the Traitor Stands in worse case of woe. And thou Posthumus, That didd'st set vp my disobedience 'gainst the King My Father, and makes me put into contempt the suites Of Princely Fellowes, shalt heereafter finde It is no acte of common passage, but A straine of Rarenesse: and I greeue my selfe, To thinke, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her, That now thou tyrest on, how thy memory Will then be pang'd by me. Prythee dispatch, The Lambe entreats the Butcher. Wher's thy knife? Thou art too slow to do thy Masters bidding When I desire it too