Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air We wawl and cry. I will preach to thee. Mark.
Glou. Alack, alack the day!
Lear. When we are born, we cry that we are come
To this great stage of fools. This' a good block.
It were a delicate stratagem to shoe A troop of horse with felt. I'll put't in proof,
And when I have stol'n upon these sons-in-law, Then kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill!”