Verily,
I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born,
And range with humble livers in content,
Than to be perked up in a glistering grief,
And wear a golden sorrow.
Act iii. Sc. 2.
And then to breakfast with
What appetite you have.
Act iii. Sc. 2.
Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness!
This is the state of man. To-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms
And bears his blushing honors thick upon him.
Act iii. Sc. 2.
O how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors!
There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.
Act iii. Sc. 2.
Had I but served my God with half the zeal
I served my king, he would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies.