Prophecy

Henry IV
Then you perceive the body of our kingdom
How foul it is, what rank diseases grow,
And with what danger near the heart of it.
Warwick
It is but as a body yet distempered,
Which to his former strength may be restored
With good advice and little medicine.
My Lord Northumberland will soon be cooled.
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King Lear
My wits begin to turn.—
Come on, my boy. How dost, my boy? Art cold?
I am cold myself.—Where is this straw, my fellow?
The art of our necessities is strange
And can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel.—
Poor Fool and knave, I have one part in my heart
That’s sorry yet for thee.
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Jesters do oft prove prophets.
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