Cukup menggelikan :D kenapa harus tetap membayar sewa ... Ya ? :ngakak Tambahan dari Perjanjian 20-mata, atau memorandum 20-mata, "..merupakan satu perjanjian yang dibuat antara negeri Sabah (Borneo Utara) dengan apa yang akan menjadi kerajaan persekutuan Malaysia sebelum pembentukan Mala
So please your grace, my ancient; A man he is of honest and trust: To his conveyance I assign my wife, With what else needful your good grace shall think To be sent after me Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see: She has deceived her father, and may thee
Let me speak like yourself, and lay a sentence, Which, as a grise or step, may help these lovers Into your favour. When remedies are past, the griefs are ended By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended. To mourn a mischief that is past and gone Is the next way to draw new mischief on.
My noble father, I do perceive here a divided duty: To you I am bound for life and education; My life and education both do learn me How to respect you; you are the lord of duty; I am hitherto your daughter: but here's my husband, And so much duty as my mother show'd To you, preferring you be
I think this tale would win my daughter too. Good Brabantio, Take up this mangled matter at the best: Men do their broken weapons rather use Than their bare hands. I pray you, hear her speak: If she confess that she was half the wooer, Destruction on my head, if my bad blame Light on the man
Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors, My very noble and approved good masters, That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, It is most true; true, I have married her: The very head and front of my offending Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech, And little bless'd with th
Whoe'er he be that in this foul proceeding Hath thus beguiled your daughter of herself And you of her, the bloody book of law You shall yourself read in the bitter letter After your own sense, yea, though our proper son Stood in your action Humbly I thank your grace. Here is the man, this M
Dead? Ay, to me; She is abused, stol'n from me, and corrupted By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks; For nature so preposterously to err, Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense, Sans witchcraft could not
I did not see you; welcome, gentle signior; We lack'd your counsel and your help tonight So did I yours. Good your grace, pardon me; Neither my place nor aught I heard of business Hath raised me from my bed, nor doth the general care Take hold on me, for my particular grief Is of so flood-ga
How! the duke in council! In this time of the night! Bring him away: Mine's not an idle cause: the duke himself, Or any of my brothers of the state, Cannot but feel this wrong as 'twere their own; For if such actions may have passage free, Bond-slaves and pagans shall our statesmen be
Hold your hands, Both you of my inclining, and the rest: Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it Without a prompter. Where will you that I go To answer this your charge? To prison, till fit time Of law and course of direct session Call thee to answer
Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them. Good signior, you shall more command with years Than with your weapons O thou foul thief, where hast thou stow'd my daughter? Damn'd as thou art, thou hast enchanted her; For I'll refer me to all things of sense, If she in chains of mag
I think I can discover him, if you please, To get good guard and go along with me Pray you, lead on. At every house I'll call; I may command at most. Get weapons, ho! And raise some special officers of night. On, good Roderigo: I'll deserve your pains
Yes, sir, I have indeed. Call up my brother. O, would you had had her! Some one way, some another. Do you know Where we may apprehend her and the Moor?
Truly, I think they are O heaven! How got she out? O treason of the blood! Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters' minds By what you see them act. Is there not charms By which the property of youth and maidhood May be abused? Have you not read, Roderigo, Of some such thing?
It is too true an evil: gone she is; And what's to come of my despised time Is nought but bitterness. Now, Roderigo, Where didst thou see her? O unhappy girl! With the Moor, say'st thou? Who would be a father! How didst thou know 'twas she? O she deceives me Past thought! What said she to you?