stars have fail'd
To equal my great fortune.
Let that go:
My haste is very great: farewell; hie home.
Pray, sir, your pardon.
Well, what would you say?
I am not worthy of the wealth I owe,
Nor dare I say 'tis mine, and yet it is;
But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal
What law does vouch mine own.
What would you have?
Something; and scarce so much: nothing, indeed.
I would not tell you what I would, my lord:
Faith yes;
Strangers and foes do sunder, and not kiss.
I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse.
I shall not break your bidding, good my lord.
Where are my other men, monsieur? Farewell.
Go thou toward home; where I will never come
Whilst I can shake my sword or hear the drum.
Away, and for our flight.
Bravely, coragio!
So that from point to point now have you heard
The fundamental reasons of this war,
Whose great decision hath much blood let forth
And more thirsts after.
Holy seems the quarrel
Upon your grace's part; black and fearful
On the opposer.
Therefore we marvel much our cousin France
Would in so just a business shut his bosom
Against our borrowing prayers.
Good my lord,
The reasons of our state I cannot yield,
But like a common and an outward man,
That the great figure of a council frames
By self-unable motion: therefore dare not
Say what I think of it, since I have found
Myself in my incertain grounds to fail
As often as I guess'd.
Be it his pleasure.
But I am sure the younger of our nature,
That surfeit on their ease, will day by day
Come here for physic.
Welcome shall they be;
And all the honours that can fly from us
Shall on them settle. You know your places well;
When better fall, for your avails they fell:
To-morrow to the field.
It hath happened all as I would have had it, save
that he comes not along with her.
By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very
melancholy man.
By what observance, I pray you?
Why, he will look upon his boot and sing; mend the
ruff and sing; ask questions and sing; pick his
teeth and sing. I know a man that had this trick of
melancholy sold a goodly manor for a song.
Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come.
I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court: our
old ling and our Isbels o' the country are nothing
like your old ling and your Isbels o' the court:
the brains of my Cupid's knocked out, and I begin to
love, as an old