We’ll pull his plumes and take away his train

Wine, wine, wine! What service is here! I think our fellows are asleep.

I am thoroughly weary.

Why, this it is: my heart accords thereto,
And yet a thousand times it answers 'no.'

Wherefore do I this? So the question stands.

Shall I keep your hogs and eat husks with them?

I beseech you
Look forward on the journey you shall go.

Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York

Will your grace command me any service to the
world's end?

Thus weary of the world, away she hies,
And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid
Their mistress mounted through the empty skies