Forget, forgive; conclude, and be agreed.

Give me to drink mandragora.

My charity is outrage, life my shame; And in that shame still live my sorrow's rage!

Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty look, repeats his words, Remembers me of his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form

O, I do not like that paying back, 'tis a double labor.

Tush! Fear not, my lord, we will not stand to prate; Talkers are no good doers: be assured We come to use our hands and not our tongues.

Though age from folly could not give me freedom, It does from childishness.