Now, Barnavelt, thou treadst the subtlest path, The hardest and the thorniest, most concernes thee, That ere thy carefull course of life run through: The Master peece is now a foot, which if it speed And take but that sure hold I ayme it at, I make no doubt but once more, like a Comet, To shine out faire and blaze prodigiously Even to the ruyn of those men that hate me.