Thus, like the sad-presaging raven, that...

Thus, like the sad-presaging raven, that tolls

The sick man's passport in her hollow beak, 

And in the shadow of the silent night

Doth shake contagion from her sable wings,

Vex'd and tormented runs poor Barabas

With fatal curses towards these Christians.

The incertain pleasures of swift-footed time

Have ta'en their flight, and left me in despair;

And of my former riches rests no more

But bare remembrance; like a soldier's scar,

That has no further comfort for his maim.---

O Thou, that with a fiery pillar ledd'st

The sons of Israel through the dismal shades,

Light Abraham's offspring; and direct the hand

Of Abigail this night! or let the day

Turn to eternal darkness after this!---

No sleep can fasten on my watchful eyes,

Nor quiet enter my distemper'd thoughts,

Till I have answer of my Abigail.

Marlowe, Christopher. The Jew of Malta. Act 2, sc 1