If you be King, why should not I succeed?
O wretched state! o bosom black as death!
I and my bosom must debate awhile, and then I would no other company.
Adieu! I have too grieved a heart to take a tedious leave.
I am afeard there are few die well that die in battle, for how can they charitably dispose of anything when blood is their argument?
Let not the world see fear and sad distrust govern the motion of a kingly eye.