Do not speak like a death's-head, do not bid me remember mine end.
Yet seemed it winter still, and, you away, As with your shadow I with these did play.
Guiderius and Arviragus. All lovers young, all lovers must Consign to thee and come to dust.
True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings: Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.
A plague o' these pickle herring!
Constant you are, But yet a woman, and for secrecy, No lady closer, for I well believe Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know, And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate.
Fortune brings in some boats that are not steer'd.
I am not yet of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the north, he that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his wife, "Fie upon this quiet life! I want work."
Thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges.
Does any here know me? This is not Lear. Does Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where are his eyes?