O all you host of heaven! O earth! What else? And shall I couple Hell?
Thou call'st me dog before thou hadst a cause, But since I am a dog, beware my fangs.
Gold were as good as twenty orators.
Why, what's the matter, That you have such a February face, So full of frost, of storm and cloudiness?
O Death, made proud with pure and princely beauty!
For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground, and tell sad stories of the death of kings... All murdered; for within the hollow crown that rounds the mortal temples of a king, keeps Death his court... and with a little pin bores through his castle wall, and farewell king!