GLOUCESTER: I do not know that Englishman alive With whom my soul is any jot at odds, More than the infant that is born to-night: I thank my God for my humility.

There's rosemary and rue. These keep Seeming and savor all the winter long. Grace and remembrance be to you.

Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth But that our soft conditions and our hearts Should well agree with our external parts?

The will is deaf and hears no heedful friends.

Tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil.

I am a man more sinned against than sinning

O sleep! O gentle sleep! Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down And steep my senses in forgetfulness? Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber, Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great, Under the canopies of costly state, And lull'd with sound of sweetest melody?