All of Shakespeare’s plays.
'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.
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