Demand me nothing: what you know, you know.
Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth But that our soft conditions and our hearts Should well agree with our external parts?
Lord, Lord, how this world is given to lying!
Men in rage strike those that wish them best.
You are not worth another word, else I'd call you knave.
No, no, I am but shadow of myself: You are deceived, my substance is not here.