They say the tongues of dying men enforce attention, like deep harmony: Where words are scarce, they're seldom spent in vain.

When words are scarce they are seldom spent in vain.

And when love speaks, the voice of all the gods
Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony.

All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages

Enter RUMOUR, painted full of tongues."

[Stage direction, Henry IV, Part 2, Induction]

Here comes a pair of very strange beasts, which in all tongues are called fools.