If the skin were parchment and the blows you gave were ink,
Your own handwriting would tell you what I think.

“How shall I abideIn this dull world, which in thy absence isNo better than a st…”

“When you depart from me sorrow abides and happiness takes his leave.”

“А я,Тупой и вялодушный парень, мямлю,Как ротозей, своей же правде чуждый,И ниче…”

“Happy thou art not; for what thou hast not, still thou strivest to get; and wha…”