Lay On, Mcduff, And Be Damned He

Despair And Die. The Ghosts

Lady, You Are The Cruel'st She Alive If You Will Lead These Graces To The Grave And Leave The World No Copy.

Ambition Should Be Made Of Sterner Stuff.

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.

You Are Not Wood, You Are Not Stones, But Men; And Being Men, Hearing The Will Of Caesar, It Will Inflame You, It Will Make You Mad.