Quote: What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?
Oppose not rage while rage is in its force, but give it way a while and let it waste.
Drown thyself? Drown cats and blind puppies.
Did he so often lodge in open field, In winter's cold and summer's parching heat, To conquer France, his true inheritance?
Rumor is a pipe Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures.
The Play's the Thing, wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King.