I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano; A stage where every man must play a part, And mine is a sad one.

Can we outrun the heavens?

Like one who draws the model of a house beyond his power to build it who, half through, gives o'er, and leaves his part-created cost a naked subject to the weeping clouds.

Last scene of all that ends this strange, eventful history, is second childishness and mere oblivion. I am sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

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

The love that follows us sometime is our trouble, which still we thank as love.

Romans, countrymen, and lovers, hear me for my cause, and be silent, that you may hear.