All of Shakespeare’s plays. More…
'Twill grieve your grace my sons should call you father.
And that is more than I will yield unto: I know I am too mean to be your queen, And yet too good to be your concubine.
'Tis better said than done, my gracious lord: I am a subject fit to jest withal, But far unfit to be a sovereign.
Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end.
Herein your highness wrongs both them and me. But, mighty lord, this merry inclination Accords not with the sadness of my suit: Please you dismiss me either with 'ay' or 'no.'
Why, then mine honesty shall be my dower; For by that loss I will not purchase them.
To tell you plain, I had rather lie in prison.
My mind will never grant what I perceive Your highness aims at, if I aim aright.
Why, then you mean not as I thought you did.
My love till death, my humble thanks, my prayers; That love which virtue begs and virtue grants.
The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege.
I take my leave with many thousand thanks.
That's soon perform'd, because I am a subject.
Why stops my lord, shall I not hear my task?
Why, then I will do what your grace commands.
No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it.
What you command, that rests in me to do.
So shall you bind me to your highness' service.
Therefore I came unto your majesty.
To do them good, I would sustain some harm.
Ay, full as dearly as I love myself.
Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then.
Three, my most gracious lord.
Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay: May it please your highness to resolve me now; And what your pleasure is, shall satisfy me.