All of Shakespeare’s plays.
We'll have dancing afterward.
Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentleman.
She died, my lord, but whiles her slander lived.
No, that you shall not, till you take her hand
Before this friar and swear to marry her.
Call her forth, brother; here's the friar ready.
Good morrow, prince; good morrow, Claudio:
We here attend you. Are you yet determined
To-day to marry with my brother's daughter?
My heart is with your liking.
The sight whereof I think you had from me,
From Claudio and the prince: but what's your will?
That eye my daughter lent her: 'tis most true.
Well, daughter, and you gentle-women all,
Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves,
And when I send for you, come hither mask'd.
The prince and Claudio promised by this hour
To visit me. You know your office, brother:
You must be father to your brother's daughter
So are the prince and Claudio, who accused her
Upon the error that you heard debated:
But Margaret was in some fault for this,
Although against her will, as it appears
In the true course of all the question.
To the Watch Bring you these fellows on. We'll
talk with Margaret,
How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow.
Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell.
Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and I thank thee.
There's for thy pains.
I thank thee for thy care and honest pains.
To-morrow then I will expect your coming;
To-night I take my leave. This naughty man
Shall face to face be brought to Margaret,
Who I believe was pack'd in all this wrong,
Hired to it by your brother.
I cannot bid you bid my daughter live;
That were impossible: but, I pray you both,
Possess the people in Messina here
How innocent she died; and if your love
Can labour ought in sad invention,
Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb
And sing it to her bones, sing ...
No, not so, villain; thou beliest thyself:
Here stand a pair of honourable men;
A third is fled, that had a hand in it.
I thank you, princes, for my daughter's death:
Record it with your high and worthy deeds:
'Twas bravely done, if you bethink you of it.
Art thou the slave that with thy breath hast kill'd
Mine innocent child?
Which is the villain? let me see his eyes,
That, when I note another man like him,
I may avoid him: which of these is he?
No? Come, brother; away! I will be heard.
My lord, my lord,--
But, brother Antony,--
Canst thou so daff me? Thou hast kill'd my child:
If thou kill'st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man.
My lord, my lord,
I'll prove it on his body, if he dare,
Despite his nice fence and his active practise,
His May of youth and bloom of lustihood.
Thine, Claudio; thine, I say.
Tush, tush, man; never fleer and jest at me:
I speak not like a dotard nor a fool,
As under privilege of age to brag
What I have done being young, or what would do
Were I not old. Know, Claudio, to thy head,
Thou hast so wrong'd mine ...
Marry, thou dost wrong me; thou dissembler, thou:--
Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword;
I fear thee not.
Some haste, my lord! well, fare you well, my lord:
Are you so hasty now? well, all is one.
Hear you. my lords,--
There thou speak'st reason: nay, I will do so.
My soul doth tell me Hero is belied;
And that shall Claudio know; so shall the prince
And all of them that thus dishonour her.
I pray thee, peace. I will be flesh and blood;
For there was never yet philosopher
That could endure the toothache patiently,
However they have writ the style of gods
And made a push at chance and sufferance.
I pray thee, cease thy counsel,
Which falls into mine ears as profitless
As water in a sieve: give not me counsel;
Nor let no comforter delight mine ear
But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine.
Bring me a father that so loved his child,
Whose joy ...
Being that I flow in grief,
The smallest twine may lead me.
What shall become of this? what will this do?
I know not. If they speak but truth of her,
These hands shall tear her; if they wrong her honour,
The proudest of them shall well hear of it.
Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine,
Nor age so eat up my invention,
Nor fortune made such ...
Friar, it cannot be.
Thou seest that all the grace that she hath left
Is that she will not add to her damnation
A sin of perjury; she not denies it:
Why seek'st thou then to cover with excuse
That which appears in proper nakedness?
Confirm'd, confirm'd! O, that is stronger made
Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron!
Would the two princes lie, and Claudio lie,
Who loved her so, that, speaking of her foulness,
Wash'd it with tears? Hence from her! let her die.
Wherefore! Why, doth not every earthly thing
Cry shame upon her? Could she here deny
The story that is printed in her blood?
Do not live, Hero; do not ope thine eyes:
For, did I think thou wouldst not quickly die,
Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames ...
Dost thou look up?
O Fate! take not away thy heavy hand.
Death is the fairest cover for her shame
That may be wish'd for.
Hath no man's dagger here a point for me?
I charge thee do so, as thou art my child.
All this is so: but what of this, my lord?
Are these things spoken, or do I but dream?
Sweet prince, why speak not you?
Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof,
Have vanquish'd the resistance of her youth,
And made defeat of her virginity,--
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