How goes it now, sir? This news which is called true is so like an old tale that the verity of it is in strong suspicion.

(Celia:) Here come Monsieur Le Beau. (Rosalind:) With his mouth full of news. (Celia:) Which he will put on us as pigeons feed their young. (Rosalind:) Then shall we be news-crammed.

Though it be honest, it is never good To bring bad news; give to a gracious message An host of tongues, but let ill tidings tell Themselves when they be felt.

Ram thou fruitful tidings in mine ears, That long time have been barren.

Prithee, friend, Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear, The good and the bad together: he's friends with Caesar, In state of health, thou say'st, and thou say'st, free.

(Pistol:) And tidings do I bring and lucky joys And golden times and happy news of price. (Falstaff:) I pray thee now, deliver them like a man of this world.