William Shakespeare

That it may please you leave these sad designs
To him that hath most cause to be a mourner,
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That it may please you leave these sad designs
To him that hath most cause to be a mourner,
And presently repair to Crosby House;
Where--after I have solemnly interred
At Chertsey monast'ry with noble king--
And wet his grave with my repentant tears--
I will with all expedient duty see you.

For God's sake let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings!
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For God's sake let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings!
How some have been deposed, some slain in war,
Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed,
Some poisoned by their wives, some sleeping killed--
All murdered; for within the hollow crown
That rounds the mortal temples of a king
Keeps Death his court; and there the antic sits,
Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp;
Allowing him a breath, a little scene,
To monarchize, be feared, and kill with looks;
Infusing him with self and vain conceit,
As if this flesh which walls about our life
Were brass impregnable; and humored thus,
Comes at the last, and with a little pin
Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king!
Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood
With solemn reverence, Throw away respect,
Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty;
For you have but mistook me all this while.
I live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief,
Need friends. Subjected thus,

Our content
Is our best having.

Our content
Is our best having.

I tell you that which you yourselves do know,
Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor poor dumb mouths,
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I tell you that which you yourselves do know,
Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor poor dumb mouths,
And bid them speak for me.

Imperious Caesar, dead and turned to clay,
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away.
O, read more

Imperious Caesar, dead and turned to clay,
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away.
O, that that earth which kept the world in awe
Should patch a wall t' expel the winter's flaw!