Act i, Sc. 2.
Seems, madam! nay, it is; I know not seems
Act i. Sc. 2.
But I have that within which passeth show;
These, but the trappings and the suits of woe.
Act i. Sc. 2.
O that this too, too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!
Or that the Everlasting had not fixed
His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God!
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world!
That it should come to this! Hyperion to a satyr! so loving to my mother,
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly.
Why, she would hang on him,
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on.