All's Well That Ends Well
What is it, my good lord, the king languishes of?
A fistula, my lord. (1.1.2)
Would I were with him! He would always say--
Methinks I hear him now;
"Let me not live," quoth he,
"After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff
Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses
All but new things disdain; whose judgments are
Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies
Expire before their fashions." This he wished.
I after him do after him wish too. (1.3.7)
Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home,
I quickly were dissolved from my hive,
To give some labourers room. (1.3.7)
Heaven hath through me restored the king to health.
We understand it, and thank heaven for you. (2.3.2)