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againſt Anne arms bear better blood brother Buck Buckingham Cade Cardinal cauſe Clar Clarence Clifford comes crown dead death doth Duke Edward England Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair fall father fear fight firſt follow foul France friends gentle give Grace hand Haſtings hath head hear heart heav'n Henry Highneſs honour hope houſe I'll keep King Lady land leave live look Lord Madam mean mind moſt mother muſt myſelf never night Noble once peace pleaſe poor pray Prince Queen Rich Richard royal ſay SCENE ſee ſhall ſhe ſhould ſome Somerſet ſon ſoul ſpeak ſtand ſuch Suffolk tears tell thank thee theſe thine thing thoſe thou thought tongue true unto Warwick whoſe wife York
Strona 191 - With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears Such hideous cries, that with the very noise, I trembling wak'd, and, for a season after, Could not believe but that I was in hell; Such terrible impression made my dream.
Strona 167 - I have no brother, I am like no brother; And this word 'love,' which greybeards call divine, Be resident in men like one another, And not in me! I am myself alone.
Strona 328 - Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not : Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's and truth's ; then if thou...
Strona 62 - Cheapside shall my palfrey go to grass: and when I am king, as king I will be,— ALL God save your majesty! CADE I thank you, good people: there shall be no money; all shall eat and drink on my score; and I will apparel them all in one livery, that they may agree like brothers and worship me their lord.
Strona 131 - Content!' to that which grieves my heart, And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, And frame my face to all occasions.
Strona 117 - So many hours must I tend my flock; So many hours must I take my rest; So many hours must I contemplate; So many hours must I sport myself; So many days my ewes have been with young; So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean; So many years ere I shall shear the fleece: So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years, Pass'd over to the end they were created, Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.
Strona 333 - O father abbot, An old man, broken with the storms of state, Is come to lay his weary bones among ye ; Give him a little earth for charity...
Strona 117 - Would I were dead! if God's good will were so; For what is in this world but grief and woe? O God, methinks it were a happy life To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run, How many make the hour full complete; How many hours bring about the day; How many days will finish up the year; How many years a mortal man may live.