To beguile the time, Look like the time, bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue; look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under't.
Whose loves Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters.
Thou art e'en as just a man As e'er my conversation coped withal.
'Tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished.
Rammed me in with foul shirts and smocks, socks, foul stockings, greasy napkins, that, Master Brook, there was the rankest compound of villainous smell that ever offended nostril.
Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war, How to divide the conquest of thy sight; Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would bar, My heart mine eye the freedom of that right.
That which in mean men we entitle patience Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.
Gloucester. Is't not the King? Lear. Ay, every inch a king! When I do stare, see how the subject quakes!
Honor's thought Reigns solely in the breast of every man.
What e'er you are That in this desert inaccessible, Under the shade of melancholy boughs, Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time.