This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself Unto our gentle senses.
Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn?
I was not much afeard; for once or twice I was about to speak, and tell him plainly, The selfsame sun that shines upon his court Hides not his visage from our cottage, but Looks on alike.
The tyrant custom, most grave senators, Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war My thrice-driven bed of down.
There's rosemary and rue. These keep Seeming and savor all the winter long. Grace and remembrance be to you.
Come away! For you shall hence upon your wedding day.
Mislike me not for my complexion, The shadowed livery of the burnished sun, To whom I am a neighbor and near bred.
Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.
Our hearts you see not; they are pitiful; And pity to the general wrong of Rome— As fire drives out fire, so pity pity— Hath done this deed on Caesar.
Nay sure, he's not in hell; he's in Arthur's bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's bosom. 'A made a finer end, and went away an it had been any christom child.