Henry VI, Part 1

No, no, I am but shadow of myself: You are deceived, my substance is not here;

She's beautiful, and therefore to be wooed; She is a woman, therefore to be won.

Good Lord, what madness rules in brainsick men When for so slight and frivolous a cause Such factious emulations shall arise!

But you, that are polluted with your lusts, Stain'd with the guiltless blood of innocents, Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices, Because you want the grace that others have, You judge it straight a thing impossible To compass wonders but by help of devils.

No more can I be sever'd from your side, Than can yourself yourself in twain divide:

My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel; I know not where I am, nor what I do;

May never glorious sun reflex his beams Upon the country where you make abode: But darkness and the gloomy shade of death Environ you, till mischief and despair Drive you to break your necks or hang yourselves!

When a world of men Could not prevail with all their oratory, Yet hath a woman's kindness overrul'd;

Unbidden guests Are often welcomest when they are gone.

This late dissension grown betwixt the peers Burns under feigned ashes of forg'd love, And will at last break out into a flame: As festered members rot but by degree, Till bones and flesh and sinews fall away, So will this base and envious discord breed.

Good Lord, what madness rules in brainsick men,

Wilt thou be daunted at a woman's sight? Aye, beauty's princely majesty is such, Confounds the tongue and makes the senses rough.

Glory is like a circle in the water, which never ceaseth to enlarge itself.