How can we aid you with our kindred tears?
Cin. Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead! Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets.
God hath given you one face, and you make yourselves another.
Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler?
FOOL. If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I'ld have thee beaten for being old before thy time. LEAR. How's that? FOOL. Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst been wise.
While thou livest keep a good tongue in thy head.
My crown is in my heart, not on my head; not decked with diamonds and Indian stones, nor to be seen: my crown is called content, a crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.
Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, a face without a heart?
Short summers lightly have a forward spring.