He Kills Her In Her Own Humor.

I See You Stand Like Greyhounds In The Slips, Straining Upon The Start. The Game's Afoot; Follow Your Spirit: And Upon This Charge, Cry — God For Harry! England And Saint George!

Your Worm Is Your Only Emperor For Diet; We Fat All Creatures Else To Fat Us, And We Fat Ourselves For Maggots.

I Am Indeed Not Her Fool, But Her Corrupter Of Words. (act Iii, Sc. I, 37-38)

To Weep Is To Make Less The Depth Of Grief.

To Show An Unfelt Sorrow Is An Office Which The False Man Does Easy.