I want that glib and oily artTo speak and purpose not.

Not to speak it profanely.

Do you not know that I am a woman? When I think, I must speak

O, pardon me, my lord! it oft falls out,To have what we would have, we speak not what we mean.I something do excuse the thing I hate.

If you can look into the seeds of time, And say which grain will grow and which will not, Speak then to me

MenCan counsel and speak comfort to that griefWhich they themselves not feel.