Classic Poem

If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes.
I know thee well enough; thy name is Gloucester.

Thou must be patient. We came crying hither.
Thou know'st the first time that we smell the air
We wawl and cry. IV, vi

Alack, alack the day!

When we are born, we cry that we are come
To this great stage of fools.-- IV, vi
It were a delicate stratagem to shoe
A troop of horse with felt. Ill put 't in proof,
And when I have stolen upon these son-in-laws,
Then, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill!