Stay, my lord, And let your reason with your choler question What 'tis you go about: to climb steep hills Requires slow pace at first: anger is like A full-hot horse, who being allow'd his way, Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England Can advise me like you: be to yourself As you would to your friend.

My language! heavens!I am the best of them that speak this speech. Were I but where 'tis spoken.

Let the end try the man.

POLONIUS: What do you read, my lord? HAMLET: Words, words, words.

Love that well which thou must leave ere long.

A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee.

I love thee; none but thee, and thou deservest it