How poor are they that have have not patients.
Is he on his horse? O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony!
Go, bid the soldiers shoot.
Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all!
So now I have confessed that he is thine, And I my self am mortgaged to thy will, My self I'll forfeit, so that other mine, Thou wilt restore to be my comfort still.
It is a wise father that knows his own child.