No traveller returns- puzzles the will,

　　And makes us rather bear those ills we have

　　Than fly to others that we know not of?

　　Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,

　　And thus the native hue of resolution

　　Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,

　　And enterprises of great pith and moment

　　With this regard their currents turn awry

　　And lose the name of action.