Mad as the sea and wind, when both contend / Which is the mightier.

But like the owner of a foul disease, / To keep it from divulging, let it feed / Even on the pith of life.

Ay, sir; that soaks up the King's countenance, his rewards, his authorities. But such officers do the King best service in the end: he keeps them, like an ape, in the corner of his jaw; first mouthed, to be last swallowed: when he needs what you have gleaned, it is but squeezing you, and, sponge, you shall be dry again.

How stand I then, / That have a father kill’d, a mother stain’d, / Excitements of my reason and my blood, / And let all sleep, while to my shame I see / The imminent death of twenty thousand men / That, for a fantasy and trick of fame, / Go to their graves like beds,

And then it started, like a guilty thing / Upon a fearful summons.

A little month, or ere those shoes were old / With which she followed my poor father’s body / Like Niobe, all tears.—

O God! A beast that wants discourse of reason / Would have mourn’d longer,—married with mine uncle, / My father’s brother; but no more like my father / Than I to Hercules.

He took me by the wrist and held me hard; / Then goes he to the length of all his arm; / And with his other hand thus o'er his brow, / He falls to such perusal of my face / As he would draw it.

Pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other, / And with a look so piteous in purport / As if he had been loosed out of hell / To speak of horrors,

The rugged Pyrrhus, he whose sable arms, / Black as his purpose, did the night resemble / When he lay couched in the ominous horse, / Hath now this dread and black complexion smear’d / With heraldry more dismal.