I love you more than word can wield the matter, Dearer than eye-sight, space and liberty
Remembrance of things past.
Ay, is it not a language I speak?
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall with our English dead.
O' What may man within him hide, though angel on the outward side!
'Tis thought the king is dead; we will not stay. The bay trees in our country are all wither'd.