O war! thou son of Hell!
Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes: Some falls are means the happier to arise
And therefore is love said to be a child, Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd
true apothecary thy drugs art quick
Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief.
I am not yet of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the North; he that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots as a breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his wife, 'Fie upon this quiet life! I want work.