—[To France] For you, great king, I would not from your love make such a stray To match you where I hate; therefore beseech you To avert your liking a more worthier way Than on a wretch whom nature is asham’d Almost to acknowledge hers.
The wretch that thou hast blown unto the worst Owes nothing to thy blasts.
A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch, Past speaking of in a king!
Tremble, thou wretch, That hast within thee undivulged crimes Unwhipp’d of justice: hide thee, thou bloody hand; Thou perjur’d, and thou simular man of virtue That art incestuous: caitiff, to pieces shake That under covert and convenient seeming Hast practis’d on man’s life: close pent-up guilts, Rive your concealing continents, and cry These dreadful summoners grace.
There are no more uses of "wretch" in the play.
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Pity the poor wretch.
If you pay the blackmail, you will remain at the mercy of the unscrupulous wretch.