To show an unfelt sorrow is an office Which the false man does easy.

This is his uncle's teaching, this Worcester, Malevolent to you In all aspects, Which makes him prune himself and bristle up The crest of youth against your dignity.

Glory is like a circle in the water, which never ceaseth to enlarge itself, till, by broad spreading, it disperse to naught.

For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood: I only speak right on; I tell you that which you yourselves do know.

Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth. O these deliberate fools!

For grief is crowned with consolation.

Dispute not with her: she is lunatic.