Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should without eyes see pathways to his will!
My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that color.
Though age from folly could not give me freedom, It does from childishness.
Mine eyes Were not in fault, for she was beautiful; Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart, That thought her like her seeming. It had been vicious To have mistrusted her.
The king's name is a tower of strength.
Thou art the Mars of malcontents.