William Shakespeare

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.

Such a house broke?
So noble a master fall'n; all gone, and not
One friend to take read more

Such a house broke?
So noble a master fall'n; all gone, and not
One friend to take his fortune by the arm
And go along with him?

I ask, that I might waken reverence,
And bid the cheek be ready with a blush
Modest read more

I ask, that I might waken reverence,
And bid the cheek be ready with a blush
Modest as morning when she coldly eyes
The youthful Phoebus,
Which is that god in office, guiding men?

Under your good correction, I have seen
When, after execution, judgment hath
Repented o'er his doom.

Under your good correction, I have seen
When, after execution, judgment hath
Repented o'er his doom.

And sheathed their swords for lack of argument. -King Henry V. Act iii. Sc. 1.

And sheathed their swords for lack of argument. -King Henry V. Act iii. Sc. 1.