1 I shall offend, either to detain or give it.
2 No more perchance does mine, or his, or hers.
3 True or false, it hath made thee Earl of Gloucester.
4 Prythee, nuncle, tell me whether a madman be a gentleman or a yeoman.
5 Thou art a boil, A plague sore, or embossed carbuncle In my corrupted blood.
6 Epicurism and lust Makes it more like a tavern or a brothel Than a grac'd palace.
7 I hope, for my brother's justification, he wrote this but as an essay, or taste of my virtue.
8 He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, a horse's health, a boy's love, or a whore's oath.
9 Ay, a tailor, sir: a stonecutter or a painter could not have made him so ill, though he had been but two years at the trade.
10 If for my sake Thou wilt o'ertake us hence a mile or twain, I the way toward Dover, do it for ancient love, And bring some covering for this naked soul, Which I'll entreat to lead me.
11 By day and night, he wrongs me; every hour He flashes into one gross crime or other, That sets us all at odds; I'll not endure it: His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us On every trifle.
12 When I desired their leave that I might pity him, they took from me the use of mine own house; charged me on pain of perpetual displeasure, neither to speak of him, entreat for him, or any way sustain him.
13 They could not, would not do't; 'tis worse than murder, To do upon respect such violent outrage: Resolve me, with all modest haste, which way Thou mightst deserve or they impose this usage, Coming from us.'
14 Sure her offence Must be of such unnatural degree That monsters it, or your fore-vouch'd affection Fall into taint; which to believe of her Must be a faith that reason without miracle Should never plant in me.
15 My lord of Gloucester hath convey'd him hence: Some five or six and thirty of his knights, Hot questrists after him, met him at gate; Who, with some other of the lord's dependants, Are gone with him toward Dover: where they boast To have well-armed friends.
16 Sir, I love you more than word can wield the matter; Dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty; Beyond what can be valu'd, rich or rare; No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour; As much as child e'er lov'd, or father found; A love that makes breath poor and speech unable; Beyond all manner of so much I love you.
17 Contending with the fretful elements; Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea, Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main, That things might change or cease; tears his white hair, Which the impetuous blasts with eyeless rage, Catch in their fury and make nothing of; Strives in his little world of man to outscorn The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain.'
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