CORDELIA _draws_ OPHELIA _close to her while looking with pity upon_
REGAN
ROSALIND. Said she by Hamlet?
PORTIA. The gentlest of all gentlemen?
BEATRICE. Can nature be upset?
IMOGEN. A rose give poison?
VIOLA. Or the sun freeze?
LADY MACBETH. All humankind seem not what they are. In truth his deed
is deeper still. He sought and thought not her arras-hidden father to
destroy, it was, so runs the hint, the husband of his mother.
BEATRICE. The king!
PORTIA. God save him then.
VIOLA. Look to Ophelia, she scarce can stand, yet wills to stand alone.
IMOGEN. Shall we humor her?
DESDEMONA. Peace to her. Our _master_, now, alone can make her new.
ROSALIND. O, Regan, why wast ever born?
LADY MACBETH. They all condemn thee.
REGAN. For doing what thou durst not. Where I am unloved, I leave. I’ll
have more news and better liking there.