Kent. Where's the king? Gent. Contending with the fretful elements; Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea, Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main, That things might change or cease; tears his white hair, Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage, Catch in their fury and make nothing of; Strives in his little world of man to outscorn The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain. This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch, The lion and the belly-pinched wolf Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs, And bids what will take all.

'Tis best to weigh the enemy more mighty than he seems.

If there be devils, would I were a devil, To live and burn in everlasting fire, So I might have your company in hell, But to torment you with my bitter tongue!

You take my life when you do take the means whereby I live

I humbly do beseech of your pardon, For too much loving you

A good heart is the sun and the moon; or, rather, the sun and not the moon, for it shines bright and never changes.

But I am constant as the Northern Star, Of whose true fixed and resting quality There is no fellow in the firmament.