All of Shakespeare’s plays. More…
Sir, We have a maid in Mytilene, I durst wager, Would win some words of him.
To wisdom he's a fool that will not yield; And since Lord Helicane enjoineth us, We with our travels will endeavour us.
Wrong not yourself, then, noble Helicane; But if the prince do live, let us salute him, Or know what ground's made happy by his breath. If in the world he live, we'll seek him out; If in his grave he rest, we'll find him there; And be ...
Know that our griefs are risen to the top, And now at length they overflow their banks.
Follow me, then. Lord Helicane, a word.
See, not a man in private conference Or council has respect with him but he.
He had need mean better than his outward show Can any way speak in his just commend; For by his rusty outside he appears To have practised more the whipstock than the lance.
They are, my liege; And stay your coming to present themselves.
Joy and all comfort in your sacred breast!