with me to the duchess.
If the matter of this paper be certain, you have
mighty business in hand.
True or false, it hath made thee earl of
Gloucester. Seek out where thy father is, that he
may be ready for our apprehension.
If I find him comforting the king, it will
stuff his suspicion more fully.--I will persevere in
my course of loyalty, though the conflict be sore
between that and my blood.
I will lay trust upon thee; and thou shalt find a
dearer father in my love.
Here is better than the open air; take it
thankfully. I will piece out the comfort with what
addition I can: I will not be long from you.
All the power of his wits have given way to his
impatience: the gods reward your kindness!
Frateretto calls me; and tells me
Nero is an angler in the lake of darkness.
Pray, innocent, and beware the foul fiend.
Prithee, nuncle, tell me whether a madman be a
gentleman or a yeoman?
A king, a king!
No, he's a yeoman that has a gentleman to his son;
for he's a mad yeoman that sees his son a gentleman
before him.
To have a thousand with red burning spits
Come hissing in upon 'em,--
The foul fiend bites my back.
He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, a
horse's health, a boy's love, or a whore's oath.
It shall be done; I will arraign them straight.
Come, sit thou here, most learned justicer;
Thou, sapient sir, sit here. Now, you she foxes!
Look, where he stands and glares!
Wantest thou eyes at trial, madam?
Come o'er the bourn, Bessy, to me,--
Her boat hath a leak,
And she must not speak
Why she dares not come over to thee.
The foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the voice of a
nightingale. Hopdance cries in Tom's belly for two
white herring. Croak not, black angel; I have no
food for thee.
How do you, sir? Stand you not so amazed:
Will you lie down and rest upon the cushions?
I'll see their trial first. Bring in the evidence.
Thou robed man of justice, take thy place;
And thou, his yoke-fellow of equity,
Bench by his side:
you are o' the commission,
Sit you too.
Let us deal justly.
Sleepest or wakest thou, jolly shepherd?
Thy sheep be in the corn;
And for one blast of thy minikin mouth,
Thy sheep shall take no harm.
Pur! the cat is gray.
Arraign her first; 'tis Goneril. I