All of Shakespeare’s plays.
Five thousand crowns, my lord.
Alas, my lord,-
Put in now, Titus.
Many do keep their chambers are not sick:
And, if it be so far beyond his health,
Methinks he should the sooner pay his debts,
And make a clear way to the gods.
Ay, but this answer will not serve.
Ha! is not that his steward muffled so?
He goes away in a cloud: call him, call him.
Flaminius! Sir, a word: pray, is my lord ready to
Five thousand mine.
Mark, how strange it shows,
Timon in this should pay more than he owes:
And e'en as if your lord should wear rich jewels,
And send for money for 'em.
Ay, but the days are wax'd shorter with him:
You must consider that a prodigal course
Is like the sun's; but not, like his, recoverable.
I fear 'tis deepest winter in Lord Timon's purse;
That is one may reach deep enough, and yet
Welcome, good brother.
What do you think the hour?
And Sir Philotus too!
Ay, and I think
One business does command us all; for mine Is money.
An open source tool for making transcripts really easy to read, search and share on the modern web
Your donations keep this site and others like it running
A Poplus component
mySociety Limited is a project of UK Citizens Online Democracy, a registered charity in England and Wales. For full details visit mysociety.org.