The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day Is crept into the bosom of the sea.

So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep. But they are creul tears. This sorrow's heavenly; it strikes where it doth love.

This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,Was once thought honest.

I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano; A stage where every man must play a part, And mine is a sad one.

The crown o' the earth doth melt. My lord! O, wither'd is the garland of the war, The soldier's pole is fall'n: young boys and girls Are level now with men; the odds is gone, And there is nothing left remarkable Beneath the visiting moon.

If people knew how much I hated them, they'd love me for holding it in.

So musical a discord, such sweet thunder.