The Works of Shakespear: As you like it. The taming of the shrew. All's well, that ends well. Twelfth-night: or, What you will |
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Page 4
ONDER comes my master , your broOrla . Go apart , Adam , and thou shalt hear how he will shake me up . Oli . Now , Sir , what make you here ? Orla . Nothing : I am not taught to make any thing Oli . What mar you then , Sir ? Orla .
ONDER comes my master , your broOrla . Go apart , Adam , and thou shalt hear how he will shake me up . Oli . Now , Sir , what make you here ? Orla . Nothing : I am not taught to make any thing Oli . What mar you then , Sir ? Orla .
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Sweet masters , be patient ; for your father's remembrance , be at accord . Oli . Let me go , I say . Orla . I will not , ' till I please : you shall hear me . My father charg'd you in his Will to give me good education you have train'd ...
Sweet masters , be patient ; for your father's remembrance , be at accord . Oli . Let me go , I say . Orla . I will not , ' till I please : you shall hear me . My father charg'd you in his Will to give me good education you have train'd ...
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O poor Orlando ! thou art overthrown ; Or Charles , or something weaker , masters thee . Le Beu . Good Sir , I do in friendship counsel you To leave this place . Albeit you have deserv'd High commendation , true applause , and love ...
O poor Orlando ! thou art overthrown ; Or Charles , or something weaker , masters thee . Le Beu . Good Sir , I do in friendship counsel you To leave this place . Albeit you have deserv'd High commendation , true applause , and love ...
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What ! my young master ? oh , my gentle master , Oh , my sweet master , O you memory Of old Sir Rowland ! why , what make you here ? Why are you virtuous ? ' why do people love you ? And wherefore are you gentle , strong , and valiant ?
What ! my young master ? oh , my gentle master , Oh , my sweet master , O you memory Of old Sir Rowland ! why , what make you here ? Why are you virtuous ? ' why do people love you ? And wherefore are you gentle , strong , and valiant ?
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At seventeen years Many their fortunes seek : But at fourscore , it is ioo late a week ; Yet fortune cannot recompence me better Than to die well , and not my master's debtor .
At seventeen years Many their fortunes seek : But at fourscore , it is ioo late a week ; Yet fortune cannot recompence me better Than to die well , and not my master's debtor .
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Popular passages
Page 33 - I must have liberty Withal, as large a charter as the wind, To blow on whom I please...
Page 306 - element,' but the word is over-worn. \Exit. Vio. This fellow is wise enough to play the fool ; And to do that well craves a kind of wit : He must observe their mood on whom he jests, The quality of persons, and the time, And, like the haggard, check at every feather That comes before his eye.
Page 32 - Tis but an hour ago since it was nine, And after one hour more 'twill be eleven ; And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot ; And thereby hangs a tale.
Page 25 - Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty: For in my youth I never did apply Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood; Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo The means of weakness and debility; Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, Frosty, but kindly: let me go with you; I'll do the service of a younger man In all your business and necessities.
Page 63 - Hero had turned nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer night ; for good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont, and being taken with the cramp, was drowned, and the foolish chroniclers of that age found it was — Hero of Sestos. But these are all lies ; men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.
Page 21 - The seasons' difference; as, the icy fang, And churlish chiding of the winter's wind; Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say,— This is no flattery: these are counsellors That feelingly persuade me what I am.