William Shakespeare

Fight till the last gasp.

Fight till the last gasp.

He does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural.

He does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural.

O dearest soul, your cause doth strike my heart
With pity that doth make me sick.

O dearest soul, your cause doth strike my heart
With pity that doth make me sick.

Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip?
Some bloody passion shakes your very frame.
These are read more

Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip?
Some bloody passion shakes your very frame.
These are portents; but yet I hope, I hope,
They do not point on me.

Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,
That old and antique song we heard last night.
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Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,
That old and antique song we heard last night.
Methought it did relieve my passion much,
More than light airs and recollected terms
Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times.
Come, but one verse.