He Kills Her In Her Own Humor.

Look, What Envious Streaks Do Lace The Severing Clouds In Yonder East! Night's Candles Are Burnt Out, And Jocund Day Stands Tip-toe On The Misty Mountain-tops.

Let None Presume To Wear An Undeserved Dignity. O That Estates, Degrees, And Offices Were Not Derived Corruptly, And That Clear Honour Were Purchased By The Merit Of The Wearer!

Our Purses Shall Be Proud, Our Garments Poor; For 'tis The Mind That Makes The Body Rich

For Love, Thou Know'st, Is Full Of Jealousy

Cordelia! Stay A Little. Ha! What Is't Thou Say'st? Her Voice Was Ever Soft.