What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, But poisoned flattery?
I have full cause of weeping, but this heart shall break into a hundred thousand flaws or ere I'll weep.
Grace and remembrance be to you both.
I will be brief. Your noble son is mad.
Thou knowest, winter tames man, woman, and beast.
He that filches from me my good name robs me of that which enriches him and makes me poor indeed.