I was adored once too.

The arms are fair, When the intent of bearing them is just.

Discharge my followers; let them hence away, From Richard's night to Bolingbrooke's fair day.

Thine eyes I love, and they as pitying me, Knowing thy heart torment me with disdain, Have put on black, and loving mourners be, Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.

The play's the thing.

Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the toothache; but a man that were to sleep your sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I think he would change places with his officer; for look you, sir, you know not which way you shall go.

My only love sprung from my only hate.