That which is now a horse, even with a thought The rack dislimms, and makes it indistinct As water is in water

O wretched state! O bosom black as death! O limed soul that, struggling to be free, art more engaged! Help, angels! Make assay! Bow, stubborn knees! and, heart with strings of steel, be soft as sinews of the new-born babe!

There is a devilish mercy in the judge, if you'll implore it, that will free your life, but fetter you till death.

O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From the world-wearied flesh

A very scurvy fellow.

I wish my horse had the speed of your tongue.

A politician... one that would circumvent God.