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You smile and mock me, as if I meant naughtily.

You will not own it.

Am I so round with you, as you with me, That like a football you do spurn me thus?

I cannot tell if to depart in silence, Or bitterly to speak in your reproof, Best fitteth my degree or your condition.

Are you crept hither to see the wrestling?

Your roof were not sufficient to contain’t.

Be just, and fear not; Let all the ends thou aim’st at be thy country’s, Thy God’s, and truth’s; then if thou fall’st, O Cromwell, Thou fall’st a blessed martyr!

Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.

What man of good temper would endure this tempest of exclamation?

I come to fetch you to the Senate-house.

Then you perceive the body of our kingdom How foul it is, what rank diseases grow, And with what danger, near the heart of it.

and wilt thou, pupil-like, Take the correction

Is he dead already?

Here’s a knocking indeed! If a man were porter of Hell Gate, he should have old turning the key.

What say you, James

Mad call I it, for to define true madness, What is’t but to be nothing else but mad? But let that go.

They have been at a great feast of languages, and stol’n the scraps.

What is it carries you away?

What stuff’s here?

I have heard That guilty creatures sitting at a play Have by the very cunning of the scene Been struck so to the soul, that presently They have proclaim’d their malefactions