It is not, nor it cannot, come to good, But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.
Thou sodden-witted lord! thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows.
For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground, and tell sad stories of the death of kings... All murdered; for within the hollow crown that rounds the mortal temples of a king, keeps Death his court... and with a little pin bores through his castle wall, and farewell king!
So foul and fair a day I have not seen.
Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.
The devil is a gentleman.