Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

Are you contented to resign the crown?

Embrace each other's love in banishment

And in this thought they find a kind of ease,

'In the base court?

His coming hither hath no further scope than for his lineal royalties.

I'll not be long behind;

Then whither he goes, thither let me go.

That, like the sun, did make beholders wink?

My subjects for a pair of carved saints

Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristol Castle.

Through casements darted their desiring eyes

Gentlemen, will you go muster men?

My stooping duty tenderly shall show.

Therefore we will disperse ourselves. Farewell.

By bare imagination of a feast?

The hopeless word of never to return

But here is Carlisle living.

To have some conference with your grace alone.

Cousin Aumerle,

How dares thy harsh rude tongue sound this unpleasing news?

And these stones prove armed soldiers,

If that my cousin king be King of England,

Look what thy soul holds dear,

We seize into our hands

I was not made a horse;

Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed!

That in a Christian climate souls refined

This sceptred isle,

So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back?

Suddenly taken, and hath sent post-haste

Of capital treason we arrest you here.

On the earth and not on him.

Throw away respect, tradition, form and ceremonious duty

I talk but idly, and you laugh at me.

To make a second fall of cursed man?

So is it in the music of men's lives.

For night-owls shriek where mounting larks should sing.

Had he done so to great and growing men,

the Duke of Lancaster is dead.

And had the tribute of his supple knee

You have in manner with your sinful hours

[SE] Take Honour From Me, And My Life Is Done.

To pay their awful duty to our presence?

I see your brows are full of discontent,

Unto the sovereign mercy of the King.

Needs must I like it well. I weep for joy

This and much more,

God, thou and I do know

O flattering glass,

With the eyes of heavy mind

And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave.

And they shall strike your children yet unborn and unbegot,

And by the glorious worth of my descent,

What more remains?

We see the wind sit sore upon our sails,

The King's grown bankrupt like a broken man.

Because we thought ourself thy lawful king.

let me kiss my sovereign's hand,

And, madam, there is orders ta'en for you;

Who comes here?

Or that I could forget what I have been,

The language I have learnt these 40 years,

For do we must what force will have us do.

Should take it off again with words of sooth!

Why should we keep law and form and due proportion,

With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs.

In wholesome counsel

Shall thy old dugs another traitor rear?

Shall I obtain it?

My care is loss of care, by old care done;

This land of such dear souls,

Our uncle York Lord Governor of England,

Have stooped my neck under your injuries

Thou dost suspect that I have been disloyal to thy bed

To drive away the heavy thought of care?

The king shall be contented.

This arm shall prove it, or this life be spent!

Tell Bolingbroke.

This fortress built by Nature for herself

One of our souls had wandered in the air.

Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters

That in common view

We were not born to sue but to command;

Madam, we'll dance.

Yea, look'st thou pale?

Our doctors say this is no month to bleed.

Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls

Therefore no no,

But we must win your grace to go with us

Therefore, no dancing, girl.

Where all my sins are writ, and that's myself.

And know not now what name to call myself!

Within this coffin I present

More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life;

Did they not sometimes cry, All hail! to me?

And bow my knee before his majesty

Many years of happy days befall

Thate'er this tongue of mine,

I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land,

But little vantage shall I reap thereby

The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he.

Return with welcome home from banishment.

Why looks thou so pale?

Fair cousin, you debase your princely knee

Discomfort guides my tongue and bids me speak of nothing but despair.

Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears.

For thy great bounty,

And lean-looked prophets whisper fearful change

What comfort have we now?!

Or I'll be buried in the King's Highway,

and added years to his short banishment

Which for some reasons I would not have seen.

Read o'er these articles.

For though it have holp madmen to their wits,

And make high majesty look like itself,

The cares I give I have, though given away;

In braving arms against thy sovereign.

That would divorce this terror from my heart;

Mount thee upon his horse;