What's the newest grief? Each minute tunes a new one.
The Play's the Thing, wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King.
No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. But I know none, and therefore am no beast.
Such as we are made of, such we be.
Look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under it.
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.