You pay him then. That's a perilous shot out of an elder-gun, that a poor and private displeasure can do against a monarch! you may as well go about to turn the sun to ice with fanning in his face with a peacock's feather. You'll never trust his word after! come, 'tis a foolish saying Your re
Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully: but when our throats are cut, he may be ransomed, and we ne'er the wiser If I live to see it, I will never trust his word after
So, if a son that is by his father sent about merchandise do sinfully miscarry upon the sea, the imputation of his wickedness by your rule, should be imposed upon his father that sent him: or if a servant, under his master's command transporting a sum of money, be assailed by robbers and die in m...
Then I would he were here alone; so should he be sure to be ransomed, and a many poor men's lives saved I dare say you love him not so ill, to wish him here alone, howsoever you speak this to feel other men's minds: methinks I could not die any where so contented as in the king's company; his cau
He may show what outward courage he will; but I believe, as cold a night as 'tis, he could wish himself in Thames up to the neck; and so I would he were, and I by him, at all adventures, so we were quit here By my troth, I will speak my conscience of the king: I think he would not wish himself an
He hath not told his thought to the king? No; nor it is not meet he should. For, though I speak it to you, I think the king is but a man, as I am: the violet smells to him as it doth to me: the element shows to him as it doth to me; all his senses have but human conditions: his ceremonies laid
A good old commander and a most kind gentleman: I pray you, what thinks he of our estate? Even as men wrecked upon a sand, that look to be washed off the next tide
We see yonder the beginning of the day, but I think we shall never see the end of it. Who goes there? A friend
Tell him, I'll knock his leek about his pate Upon Saint Davy's day Do not you wear your dagger in your cap that day, lest he knock that about yours
The king's a bawcock, and a heart of gold, A lad of life, an imp of fame; Of parents good, of fist most valiant. I kiss his dirty shoe, and from heart-string I love the lovely bully. What is thy name? Harry le Roy