Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

Scroop, what news?

Mine honour is my life; both grow in one.

A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,

Who, weak with age, cannot support myself.

So as thou livest in peace,

I warrant they have made peace with Bolingbroke.

Shall be extinct with age and endless night.

And am I last that knows it?

Rode he on Barbary?

And nothing can we call our own but death.

Duke of Norfolk,

no person be so bold

He does me double wrong

And stained the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks

How soon my sorrow hath destroyed my face.

This seat of Mars,

You have a son, Aumerle, my noble cousin.

Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me,

My lord, 'tis nothing. No matter, then, who see it;

On pain of death,

The man that mocks at it and sets it light.

And they are fled.

And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven

Would he not fall down,

Than Bolingbroke to England.

And yet we strike not, but securely perish.

Uncle, give me your hand.

He is as like thee as a man may be!

And that's the wavering commons, for their love

That seemed in eating him to hold him up,

Were he twenty times my son, I would impeach him.

Spur post, and get before him to the king,

Come home with me to supper; and I'll lay

and my succeeding issue

Thoughts tending to content

That were some love but little policy.

That hath all achieved!

Aumerle? Poor boy, thou art amazed.

My son, Aumerle. What news from Oxford?

And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect

Again uncurse their souls.

What is the matter? Peace, foolish woman!

Thus high at least, although your knee be low.

And thy abundant goodness shall excuse

Who all the while hath revelled in the night

And for we think the eagle-winged pride

Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land,

What said our cousin when you parted with him?

My body shall make good upon this earth,

Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.

And if we be, how dare thy joints forget

I thank thee not;

But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom,

We thank you both.

And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee.

And he shall think that thou, which know'st the way

Before the expiration of thy time,

Proud Bolingbroke, I come!

That they are not the first of fortune's slaves,

Who, with much ado, have gotten leave

Good king, great king,

And send him many years of sunshine days!

For he is just and always loved us well.

That know the strong'st and the surest way to get!

Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord,

Our lives, our children, and our heirs.

Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.

Besides, our nearness to the King in love

A brittle glory shineth in this face.

Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so,

Since thou, created to be awed by man,

Divine his downfall?

Say that again. The shadow of my sorrow! Ha!

And must I ravel out My weaved-up folly?

Here, cousin, seize the crown;

Shall not regreet our fair dominions,

For I must nothing be;

He shortens four years from my son's exile

I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king;

To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again,

Expedient manage must be made, my liege,

And make some pretty match with shedding tears?

For how art thou a king

Welcome, my lord.

The one in fear to lose what they enjoy,

Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all.

My lords of England, let me tell you this.

And he himself not present?

For when I was a king, my flatterers

To help him to his grave immediately!

And future ages groan for this foul act;

And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt,

Of comfort, no man speak!

To read a lecture of them?

And make a dearth in this revolting land.

You show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee,

O but they say the tongues of dying men

Which serves it in the office of a wall,

Old John of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster.

Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him.

Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring.

His noble cousin

Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth,

And is not Harry true? Did the one not deserve to have an heir?

By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?

Then murders, treasons and detested sins

Wast born to bear?

Away with me in post to meet him there.