My pride fell with my fortunes.
My nature is subdued to what it works in, like the dyer's hand.
I begin to find an idle and fond bondage in the oppression of aged tyranny, who sways, not as it hath power, but as it is suffered.
You are not worth another word, else I'd call you knave.
First Witch He knows thy thought: Hear his speech, but say thou nought.
When I have plucked the rose, I cannot give it vital growth again, It needs must wither. I'll smell it on the tree.