All of Shakespeare’s plays. More…
You great fellow, Stand close up, or I'll make your head ache.
The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There is a fellow somewhat near the door, he should be a brazier by his face, for, o' my conscience, twenty of the dog-days now reign in's nose; all that stand about him are under the line, they need no other penance ...
What would you have me do?
I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand, To mow 'em down before me: but if I spared any That had a head to hit, either young or old, He or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker, Let me ne'er hope to see a chine again And that I would ...
Alas, I know not; how gets the tide in? As much as one sound cudgel of four foot-- You see the poor remainder--could distribute, I made no spare, sir.
Pray, sir, be patient: 'tis as much impossible-- Unless we sweep 'em from the door with cannons-- To scatter 'em, as 'tis to make 'em sleep On May-day morning; which will never be: We may as well push against Powle's, as stir em.