God's will! my liege, would you and I alone, Without more help, could fight this royal battle!
A man I am cross'd with adversity.
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel, Making a famine where abundance lies, Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Take you me for a sponge?
Your face is a book, where men may read strange matters.
When you fear a foe, fear crushes your strength; and this weakness gives strength to your opponents.