Don't waste your love on somebody, who doesn't value it.
That you were once unkind befriends me now, And for that sorrow, which I then did feel, Needs must I under my transgression bow, Unless my nerves were brass or hammered steel.
For they are yet ear-kissing arguments.
When I waked, I cried to dream again
There's no more faith in thee than in a stewed prune.
O, let me kiss that hand! KING LEAR: Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality.