And my poor fool is hanged. No, no, no life?
Why should a dog,
Where have I been? Where am I? Fair daylight?
I am mightily abused; I should e’en die with pity
To see another thus.
Cordelia, kissing Lear
O, my dear father, restoration hang
Thy medicine on my lips,
Did your letters pierce the Queen to any demonstration
Here is the place, my lord. Good my lord, enter.
The tyranny of the open night ’s too rough
For nature to endure.
Alas, sir, are you here? Things that love night
Love not such nights as these.
Who’s there, besides foul weather?
One minded like the weather, most unquietly.
Fool, to Kent
Prithee tell him, so much the rent of his
land comes to.
Sirrah, I’ll teach thee a speech.
How now, what art thou?
A man, sir.
What dost thou profess?
Fare thee well, king. Sith thus thou wilt appear,
Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.
Whom I have ever honored as my king,
Loved as my father,
Now, our joy,
Although our last and least, to whose young love
The vines of France and milk of Burgundy
Strive to be interessed,
I thought the King had more affected the Duke
of Albany than Cornwall.
It did always seem so to us,
Frateretto calls me and tells me Nero is an
angler in the lake of darkness.