Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor; Most choice, forsaken; and most loved, despised! Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon: Be it lawful I take up what's cast away. Gods, gods! 'tis strange that from their cold'st neglect My love should kindle to inflamed respect. Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance, Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France: Not all the dukes of waterish Burgundy Can buy this unprized precious maid of me. Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind: Thou losest here, a better where to find.

There is a time in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune.

When most I wink, then do my eyes best see

Farewell, good Salisbury, and good luck go with thee!

My joy is death- Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard, Because I wish'd this world's eternity.

With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.

Happy thou art not; for what thou hast not, still thou strivest to get; and what thou hast, forgettest.