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answer arms bear beauty better blood breath bring brother Buck cause comes cousin crown dead death dost doth Duke Earl Edward England Enter Exeunt Exit eyes face fair faith fall false father fear fight follow France French friends gentle give Glou Gloucester grace grief hand hast hath head hear heart heaven Henry hold honour hope horse hour John keep king Lady land leave live look lord majesty master means mind never night noble once peace poor pray Prince queen rest Rich Richard SCENE shame soldiers soul speak stand stay sweet sword tears tell thee thine thing thou art thought thousand tongue true truth turn unto Warwick York young
Pagina 829 - Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing, And like enough thou know'st thy estimate ; The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing ; My bonds in thee are all determinate. For how do I hold thee but by thy granting ? And for that riches where is my deserving? The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, And so my patent back again is swerving. Thyself thou...
Pagina 60 - O, let us pay the time but needful woe, Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs. — This England never did, (nor never shall,) Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, But when it first did help to wound itself. Now these her princes are come home again, Come the three corners of the world in arms, And we shall shock them : Nought shall make us rue, If England to itself do rest but true.
Pagina 821 - Against the wreckful siege of battering days, When rocks impregnable are not so stout, Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays ? O fearful meditation ! where, alack, Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid ? Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back ? Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid ? O, none, unless this miracle have might, That in black ink my love may still shine bright.
Pagina 832 - That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him: Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell Of different flowers in odour and in hue, Could make me any summer's story tell, Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew : Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose ; They were but sweet, but figures of delight, Drawn after you ; you pattern of all those.