King Lear

Tom's a-cold.
Is that the naked fellow?
Ay, my lord.
Come hither.

Know'st thou the way to Dover?
Ay, master.

As flies to wanton boys
are we to th' gods.

They kill us for their sport.
Spare speech.
Decline your head;

this kiss,
if it durst speak,

would stretch
thy spirits
up into the air.

Yours in the ranks
of death.

My most dear

O, the difference
of man and man!

To thee a woman's
services are due.

A fool usurps my bed.
I have been worth
the whistle.

O Goneril.
You are not worth the dust
which the rude wind
blows in your face.

I fear your disposition.
No more;
the text is foolish.

What have you done?
Tigers, not daughters,
what have you perform'd?
Most barbarous
and degenerate,

you maddened a father
and a gracious aged man.