O! grief hath changed me since you saw me last, And careful hours with time's deformèd hand Have written strange defeatures in my face.
Your wife would give you little thanks for that If she were by to hear you make the offer.
But he's something stained With grief, that's beauty's canker, thou mightst call him A goodly person.
I shall despair. There is no creature loves me, And if I die no soul will pity me. And wherefore should they, since that I myself Find in myself no pity to myself?
Why, all the souls that were were forfeit once, And He that might the vantage best have took Found out the remedy. How would you be If He which is the top of judgment should But judge you as you are? O, think on that, And mercy then will breathe within your lips, Like man new made.
A light heart lives long.
Gloucester. O, let me kiss that hand! Lear. Let me wipe it first, it smells of mortality. Gloucester. O ruined piece of nature! This great world Shall so wear out to nought.
Speak the speech ... trippingly on the tongue; but if you mouth it ... I had as lief the town crier had spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus, but use all gently; for in the very torrent, tempest, and as I may say the whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness.
The end crowns all; And that old common arbitrator, Time, Will one day end it.
O, the blood more stirs To rouse a lion than to start a hare!