A Friend Should Bear His Friend's Infirmities.

The Poor World Is Almost Six Thousand Years Old, And In All This Time There Was Not Any Man Died In His Own Person, Videlicet, In A Love-cause.

Truly, I Would Not Hang A Dog By My Will, Much More A Man Who Hath Any Honesty In Him.

We Go To Gain A Little Patch Of Ground That Hath In It No Profit But The Name.

A Rotten Case Abides No Handling.

Fairest Cordelia, That Art Most Rich, Being Poor; Most Choice, Forsaken; And Most Loved, Despised! Thee And Thy Virtues Here I Seize Upon: Be It Lawful I Take Up What's Cast Away. Gods, Gods! 'tis Strange That From Their Cold'st Neglect My Love Should Kindle To Inflamed Respect. Thy Dowerless Daughter, King, Thrown To My Chance, Is Queen Of Us, Of Ours, And Our Fair France: Not All The Dukes Of Waterish Burgundy Can Buy This Unprized Precious Maid Of Me. Bid Them Farewell, Cordelia, Though Unkind: Thou Losest Here, A Better Where To Find.