All of Shakespeare’s plays.
It stands your grace upon to do him right.
Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord.
To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them that fear.
Be confident to speak, Northumberland:
We three are but thyself; and, speaking so,
Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, be bold.
We see the very wreck that we must suffer;
And unavoided is the danger now,
For suffering so the causes of our wreck.
He hath not money for these Irish wars,
His burthenous taxations notwithstanding,
But by the robbing of the banish'd duke.
The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm.
The commons hath he pill'd with grievous taxes,
And quite lost their hearts: the nobles hath he fined
For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts.
No good at all that I can do for him;
Unless you call it good to pity him,
Bereft and gelded of his patrimony.
My heart is great; but it must break with silence,
Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue.
And living too; for now his son is duke.
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