All of Shakespeare’s plays.
God's benison go with you; and with those
That would make good of bad, and friends of foes!
'Tis said they eat each other.
Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last,
A falcon, towering in her pride of place,
Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd.
Threescore and ten I can remember well:
Within the volume of which time I have seen
Hours dreadful and things strange; but this sore night
Hath trifled former knowings.
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