Oh, I am fortune's fool!
Discuss unto me: art thou officer, Or art thou base, common, and popular?
Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo, The numbers of the feared.
Not all the water in the rough rude sea Can wash the balm from an anointed King.
The attempt and not the deed confounds us.
Care is no cure, but rather corrosive, For things that are not to be remedied.