All live to die, and rise to fall.

YOUNG MORTIMER:Thou proud disturber of thy country's peace,Corrupter of thy king, cause of these broils,Base flatterer, yield! and were it not for shame,Shame and dishonour to a soldier's name,Upon my weapon's point here should'st thou fall,And welter in thy gore.LANCASTER:Monster of men!That, like the Greekish strumpet, train'd to armsAnd bloody wars so many valiant knights;Look for no other fortune, wretch, than death!King Edward is not here to buckler thee.

Nay, could their numbers countervail the stars,Or ever-drizzling drops of April showers,Or wither'd leaves that autumn shaketh down,Yet would the Soldan by his conquering powerSo scatter and consume them in his rage, That not a man should live to rue their fall.

Forbid me not to weep; he was my father;And, had you lov'd him half so well as I,You could not bear his death thus patiently.

You stars that reigned at my nativity, / Whose influence hath allotted death and hell, / Now draw up Faustus, like a foggy mist, / Into the entrails of yon labouring cloud.