So May He Rest, His Faults Lie

Hold, Or Cut Bowstrings.

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.

A Countenance More In Sorrow Than In Anger.

Vengeance Is In My Heart, Death In My Hand,blood And Revenge Are Hammering In My Head.

Rumour Doth Double, Like The Voice And Echo, The Numbers Of The Feared.