Measure for Measure by William Shakespeare
page 62 of 164 (37%)
page 62 of 164 (37%)
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O heavens!
Why does my blood thus muster to my heart, Making both it unable for itself And dispossessing all the other parts Of necessary fitness? So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons; Come all to help him, and so stop the air By which he should revive: and even so The general, subject to a well-wished king Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love Must needs appear offence. [Enter ISABELLA.] How now, fair maid? ISABELLA. I am come to know your pleasure. ANGELO. That you might know it, would much better please me Than to demand what 'tis. Your brother cannot live. ISABELLA. Even so?--Heaven keep your honour! [Retiring.] ANGELO. |
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