What, villain boy!
Barr'st me my way in Rome?
Help, Lucius, help! (1.1.17)
Revenge it, as you love your mother's life,
Or be ye not henceforth call'd my children. (2.3.5)
Chiron, thy years want wit, thy wit wants edge,
And manners, to intrude where I am graced;
And may, for aught thou know'st, affected be.
Demetrius, thou dost over-ween in all;
And so in this, to bear me down with braves.
'Tis not the difference of a year or two
Makes me less gracious or thee more fortunate:
I am as able and as fit as thou
To serve, and to deserve my mistress' grace;
And that my sword upon thee shall approve,
And plead my passions for Lavinia's love. (2.1.1)