Grown old in courts, thou art not surely
Who keeps the rigid rules of ancient honour;
Well skill'd to soothe a foe with looks of kindness,
To sink the fatal precipice before him,
…and when "the future" is uttered, swarms of micerush out of the Russian language and gnaw a pieceof ripened memory which is twice as hole-ridden as real cheese
After all these years it hardly matters whoor what stands in the corner...
(from Richard III, spoken by Gloucester)
Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
(from Henry V, spoken by King Henry)
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man