Tirade of a Venetian Ghost

What might! And what fallow hallowed heart! Whyst a mangled mane In willow branches soft remains? Come breadth! Come world and sun! Bold be thy brute And bareth be thy fruit! Lion dispareth not Or let thy matter rot In the sparing white edge of mine eye What for that morning? What for this cursed night? Vanity hath passed over thee In changed light Whilst him with black hand turns thee right Oh coward coil! 'reft of limbs thy soul Shoul climb into an e'er blowing brain And folly find in the eternal musician It is thy stake! Hath in thee much to present? Forswear mine countenance forsworn For forgiveness of thy lingering! Thou wanting of bars But stayst the prisoner Piteous overture comforts mine ear Conceive thy pain! This sanguine wine 'tis thine to stain Flash death bright smiles I must fortune's favor find! Thy blustering is thy lasting effect