:09:45
Worid, worid, O worid!
:09:48
But that thy strange mutations
make us hate thee,
:09:51
life would not yield to age.
:10:06
Tom's a-cold.
:10:10
Is that the naked fellow?
:10:12
Ay, my lord.
Come hither.
:10:16
Know'st thou the way to Dover?
Ay, master.
:10:42
As flies to wanton boys
are we to th' gods.
:10:46
They kill us for their sport.