All of Shakespeare’s plays. More…
Fly, my lord, fly.
Fly, fly, my lord; there is no tarrying here.
Now is that noble vessel full of grief, That it runs over even at his eyes.
What ill request did Brutus make to thee?
O Dardanius!
I'll rather kill myself.
What, I, my lord? No, not for all the world.
Statilius show'd the torch-light, but, my lord, He came not back: he is or ta'en or slain.