Howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stones: Had I your tongues and eyes, I’d use them so
That heaven’s vault should crack. She’s gone for ever! I know when one is dead, and when one lives; She’s dead as earth. Lend me a looking-glass; If that her breath will mist or stain the stone, Why, then she lives. This feather stirs; she lives! If it be so,
It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows That ever I have felt. Prithee, away. A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all!
I might have saved her; now she’s gone for ever!
O Cordelia! Cordelia! Stay a little. Ha? What is’t thou say’st? Her voice was ever soft, Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman. And my poor fool is hang’d! No, no, no life! Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life,
And thou no breath at all? Thou’lt come no more,
Never, never, never, never, never!