Perforce must move. My gracious lord! My father!

This sleep is sound indeed; this is a sleep

That from this golden rigol hath divorced

So many English kings. Thy due from me

Is tears and heavy sorrows of the blood,

Which nature, love, and filial tenderness,

Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously.

My due from thee is this imperial crown,

Which, as immediate from thy place and blood,

Derives itself to me. (He puts the crown on his head) Lo where it sits,

Which God shall guard, and put the world’s whole strength

Into one giant arm, it shall not force

This lineal honour from me. This from thee

Will I to mine leave as ’tis left to me.

Much Ado About Nothing

[II, iii, 8–33] His own armour of scorn so far proof against Cupid’s arrows, Benedick muses on the mysterious miracles worked by love, even on those who, like his friend Claudio, should know better:

I do much wonder that one man, seeing how much another man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviours to love, will, after he hath laughed at such shallow follies in others, become the argument of his own scorn by falling in love; and such a man is Claudio. I have known when there was no music with him but the drum and the fife, and now had he rather hear the tabor and the pipe. I have known when he would have walked ten mile afoot to see a good armour, and now will he lie ten nights awake carving the fashion of a new doublet. He was wont to speak plain and to the purpose, like an honest man and a soldier, and now is he turned orthography; his words are a very fantastical banquet, just so many strange dishes. May I be so converted and see with these eyes? I cannot tell; I think not. I will not be sworn but love may transform me to an oyster; but I’ll take my oath on it, till he have made an oyster of me he shall never make me such a fool. One woman is fair, yet I am well; another is wise, yet I am well; another virtuous, yet I am well; but till all graces be in one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace. Rich she shall be, that’s certain; wise, or I’ll none; virtuous, or I’ll never cheapen her; fair, or I’ll never look on her; mild, or come not near me; noble, or not I for an angel; of good discourse, an excellent musician, and her hair shall be of what colour it please God.

Henry V

[IV, i, 223–77] Harry, himself now a king, has occasion to consider the responsibilities of royal rank:

Upon the King! Let us our lives, our souls,

Our debts, our careful wives,

Our children, and our sins, lay on the King!

We must bear all. O hard condition,

Twin-born with greatness, subject to the breath

Of every fool, whose sense no more can feel