I am a foe to tyrants, and my country's friend.

Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye Than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity.

He that is robbed, not wanting what is stolen, him not know t, and he's not robbed at all.

What's his offense? Groping for trout in a peculiar river.

Will you walk out of the air, my lord? HAMLET Into my grave.

Did he so often lodge in open field, In winter's cold and summer's parching heat, To conquer France, his true inheritance?

...too much sadness hath congealed your blood,And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy.