I thank God I am as honest as any man living that is an old man and no honester than I.

If you be King, why should not I succeed?

I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness, And from that full meridian of my glory I haste now to my setting.

Fight to the last gasp.

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.

O, that our fathers would applause our loves, To seal our happiness with hteir consents!

To be generous, guiltless, and of a free disposition is to take those things for bird-bolts that you deem cannon-bullets.