I would not wish any companion in the world but you.
For many men that stumble at the threshold are well foretold that danger lurks within.
Then love-devouring Death do what he dare.
All pity choked with custom of fell deeds.
Gloucester, we have done deeds of charity, made peace of enmity, fair love of hate, between these swelling wrong-incensed peers.
The moon of Rome, chaste as the icicle that's curded by the frost from purest snow.