If't Be Summer News, Smile To't Before;

Now Would I Give A Thousand Furlongs Of Sea For An Acre Of Barren Ground.

Rumour: "upon My Tongues Continual Slanders Ride, The Which In Every Language I Pronounce, Stuffing The Ears Of Men With False Reports.

Be Lion-mettled, Proud, And Take No Care Who Chafes, Who Frets, Or Where Conspirers Are!

Gloucester: I Do Not Know That Englishman Alive With Whom My Soul Is Any Jot At Odds, More Than The Infant That Is Born To-night: I Thank My God For My Humility.

Until I Know This Sure Uncertainty, I'll Entertain The Offered Fallacy.