Let the Children Play, It’s Good for Them!
Please forward this error screen to 209. And here are to be let the Children Play, It’s Good for Them!’d. Which of you shall we say doth love us most? Where nature doth with merit challenge.
Beyond all manner of so much I love you. Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? And prize me at her worth. A third more opulent than your sisters?
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Lest it may mar your fortunes. Obey you, love you, and most honour you. Hold thee, from this, for ever. Come not between the dragon and his wrath. Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her.
Make with you by due turns. What wilt thou do, old man? The true blank of thine eye. Thou swear’st thy gods in vain.
I’ll tell thee thou dost evil. Our potency made good, take thy reward. Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here. That justly think’st, and hast most rightly said! That good effects may spring from words of love. He’ll shape his old course in a country new. Or cease your quest of love?
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But now her price is fall’n. She’s there, and she is yours. Election makes not up on such conditions. I tell you all her wealth. Hath lost me in your liking. Hadst not been born than not to have pleased me better. What say you to the lady?
That you must lose a husband. I shall not be his wife. Be it lawful I take up what’s cast away. My love should kindle to inflamed respect. Can buy this unprized precious maid of me. Thou losest here, a better where to find. Without our grace, our love, our benison.
Your faults as they are named. I would prefer him to a better place. And well are worth the want that you have wanted. Who cover faults, at last shame them derides. As to the legitimate: fine word,–legitimate! Now, gods, stand up for bastards!
I understand them, are to blame. Had he a hand to write this? I shall find means and acquaint you withal. All with me’s meet that I can fashion fit. With cheques as flatteries,–when they are seen abused.
For which I razed my likeness. Shall find thee full of labours. I will not part from thee yet. Go you, and call my fool hither. You, you, sirrah, where’s my daughter? Go you, call hither my fool. Would I had two coxcombs and two daughters!
Lady the brach may stand by the fire and stink. Than two tens to a score. I would fain learn to lie. Methinks you are too much of late i’ the frown. Weary of all, shall want some. In rank and not-to-be endured riots.
By what yourself too late have spoke and done. That it’s had it head bit off by it young. So, out went the candle, and we were left darkling. Who is it that can tell me who I am? I should be false persuaded I had daughters.
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As you are old and reverend, you should be wise. Yet have I left a daughter. How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show! And be a thwart disnatured torment to her! Yea, it is come to this? You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master.
And hold our lives in mercy. Not fear still to be taken: I know his heart. What, have you writ that letter to my sister? Striving to better, oft we mar what’s well. If your diligence be not speedy, I shall be there afore you. I can tell what I can tell. I can tell why a snail has a house.
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Keep me in temper: I would not be mad! Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut shorter. This weaves itself perforce into my business. Which I must act: briefness and fortune, work! Have you not spoken ‘gainst the Duke of Cornwall? Upon his party ‘gainst the Duke of Albany? Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion.
Do more than this in sport. I know not why he comes. Which I can call but now, I have heard strange news. To have the expense and waste of his revenues. This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him. How in my strength you please.
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I have nothing to do with thee. Spare my gray beard, you wagtail? You beastly knave, know you no reverence? Knowing nought, like dogs, but following. A plague upon your epileptic visage! Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool?
I’ld drive ye cackling home to Camelot. Than I and such a knave. An honest mind and plain, he must speak truth! There shall he sit till noon. You should not use me so.
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Will not be rubb’d nor stopp’d: I’ll entreat for thee. Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I’ll whistle. Fortune, good night: smile once more: turn thy wheel! The winds and persecutions of the sky.
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That’s something yet: Edgar I nothing am. And not send back my messenger. Makest thou this shame thy pastime? He raised the house with loud and coward cries. The shame which here it suffers. Ne’er turns the key to the poor.
How chance the king comes with so small a train? They have travell’d all the night? The images of revolt and flying off. I’ld speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife. Till it cry sleep to death. With how depraved a quality–O Regan! Than she to scant her duty.
As clears her from all blame. Say you have wrong’d her, sir. That you’ll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food. To fall and blast her pride! When the rash mood is on. That she would soon be here.
Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows. Art not ashamed to look upon this beard? O Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand? How came my man i’ the stocks? Which shall be needful for your entertainment. But she knows what she does.
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What should you need of more? Speak ‘gainst so great a number? From those that she calls servants or from mine? Will I give place or notice. Stands in some rank of praise. And thou art twice her love. Have a command to tend you?
You heavens, give me that patience, patience I need! O fool, I shall go mad! And must needs taste his folly. Where is my lord of Gloucester? To have his ear abused, wisdom bids fear. And bids what will take all.