For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood: I only speak right on; I tell you that which you yourselves do know.

I stalk about her door, like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks staying for waftage.

Examine well your blood.

We have seen better days.

You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, As full of grief as age; wretched in both.

My love is thine to teach; teach it but how, And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn. Any hard lesson that may do thee good.

O, reason not the need!