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And then it started, like a guilty thing That I am guiltless of your father's death, That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders. Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain! And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse, With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding sword Your loneliness.--We are oft to blame in this,-- Yet what can it when one cannot repent? For it must seem their guilt. O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children!-- Because I will be guiltless of the meaning. By cock, they are to blame. And wet his grave with my repentant tears,-- These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear,