“Sound drums and trumpets! Farewell sour annoy! For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy.”

“Tis ten to one this play can never pleaseAll that are here. Some come to take their easeAnd sleep an act or two; but those, we fear,W' have frighted with our trumpets.”

“Sweets to the sweet, farewell! I hoped thou shouldst have been my Hamlet’s wife; I thought thy bride-bed to have decked, sweet maid, And not have strewed thy grave.”

“Strike up our drums! Pursue the scatter'd stray.God, and not we, hath safely fought to day.”

“Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth.— Joy, gentle friends! joy and fresh days of love Accompany your hearts!”

“Well, lords, we have not got that which we have:'Tis not enough our foes are this time fled,Being opposites of such repairing nature.York:I know our safety is to follow them;For, as I hear, the king is fled to London,To call a present court of parliament.Let us pursue him ere the writs go forth.What says Lord Warwick? shall we after them?Warwick:After them! nay, before them, if we can.Now, by my faith, lords, 'twas a glorious day:Saint Alban's battle won by famous YorkShall be eternized in all age to come.Sound drums and trumpets, and to London all:And more such days as these to us befall!”

“Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor;Most choice, forsaken; and most loved, despised!Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon:Be it lawful I take up what's cast away.Gods, gods! 'tis strange that from their cold'st neglectMy love should kindle to inflamed respect.Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance,Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France:Not all the dukes of waterish BurgundyCan buy this unprized precious maid of me.Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind:Thou losest here, a better where to find.”