Now, whether it be Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple Of thinking too precisely on the event,— A thought which, quarter’d, hath but one part wisdom And ever three parts coward,—I do not know Why yet I live to say ’This thing’s to do;’ Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and means To do’t.
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the craven fellow turned and ran
I feel like a hunted, craven animal, which is exactly how the Empire sees me—how it sees all Scholars.