If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction.
I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated To closeness and the bettering of my mind.
I pray thee cease thy counsel, Which falls into mine ears as profitless as water in a sieve.
Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground.
Fill all thy bones with aches.
For they are yet ear-kissing arguments.
Their understanding Begins to swell and the approaching tide Will shortly fill the reasonable shores That now lie foul and muddy.
I cannot tell what the dickens his name is.
Thou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge of thine own cause.
How many ages hence Shall this our lofty scene be acted over In states unborn and accents yet unknown!