In time the savage bull sustains the yoke, / In time all haggard hawks will stoop to lure. / In time small wedges cleave the hardest oak, / In time the flint is pierced with softest shower.
My son - and what's a son? A thing begot / Within a pair of minutes, thereabouts, / A lump bred up in darkness.
Oh eyes, no eyes, but fountains fraught with tears; O life, no life, but lively form of death; Oh world, no world, but mass of public wrongs
My soule, poore soule thou talkes of things/ Thou knowest not what, my soule hath sliver wings,/ That mounts me up unto the highest heavens.
BEL-IMPERIA: Oh let me go; for in my troubled eyesNow may'st thou read that life in passion dies.HORATIO: Oh stay a while, and I will die with thee;So shalt thou yield, and yet have conquered me.
Then haste we down to meet thy friends and foes;To place thy friends in ease, the rest in woes.For here though death doth end their misery,I'll there begin their endless tragedy.
Thus must we toil in other men's extremes, That know not how to remedy our own.
What outcries pluck me from my naked bed And chill my throbbing heart with trembling fear.