Shakespeare

By the false faith of him whom most I trusted;
This, this All-Souls’ day to my fearful soul 20
Is the determin’d respite of my wrongs.
That high All-Seer which I dallied with
Hath turn’d my feigned prayer on my head,
And given in earnest what I begg’d in jest. 24
Thus doth he force the swords of wicked men
To turn their own points on their masters’ bosoms:
Thus Margaret’s curse falls heavy on my neck:
‘When he,’ quoth she, ‘shall split thy heart with sorrow, 28
Remember Margaret was a prophetess.’
Come, lead me, officers, to the block of shame:
Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.

Shakespeare