Discharge my followers; let them hence away, From Richard's night to Bolingbrooke's fair day.
The sun with one eye vieweth all the world.
Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself And falls on the other side
Oh God! that one might read the book of fate, And see the revolution of the times Make mountains level, and the continent, Weary of solid firmness, melt itself Into the sea.
My grief lies onward, and my joy behind.
Hal, if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse.