Suspicion, Discontent, and Strife, Come in for Dowrie with a Wife.

Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind; The thief doth fear each bush an officer.

All is not well. I doubt some foul play. Would the night were come! Till then sit still, my soul. Foul deeds will rise, Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes.

Would he were fatter! But I fear him not. Yet if my name were liable to fear, I do not know the man I should avoid So soon as that spare Cassius.

Now is the winter of our discontent.

Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this son of York.