King Lear

Stop her there!
Arms, arms,
sword, fire!

Corruption in the place!
False justicer,
why hast thou let her 'scape?

O pity! Sir, where is
the patience now that you
so oft have boasted to retain?

The dogs and all,
Tray, Blanch and Sweetheart,
see, they bark at me.

Tom will throw
his head at them.
Avaunt, you curs!

For, with throwing
thus my head,

dogs leapt the hatch
and all are fled.

Poor Tom, thy horn is dry.
Then let them
anatomize Regan;

see what breeds
about her heart.

Is there any cause
in nature that makes
these hard hearts?

Now, good my lord,
lie here and rest awhile.

You, sir, I entertain to be
one of my hundred;

only I don't like the fashion
of your garments.

You may say they are Persian,
but let them be chang'd.
nature sleeps.

Drive toward Dover, friend.
I have o'erheard
a plot of death
upon him.