All of Shakespeare’s plays. More…
My lord, the enemy is past the marsh After the battle let George Stanley die.
A good direction, warlike sovereign. This found I on my tent this morning.
Arm, arm, my lord; the foe vaunts in the field.
I warrant you, my lord.
I go, my lord.
Six or seven thousand is their utmost power.
We must both give and take, my gracious lord.
Here, most gracious liege.