To plainness honour’s bound When majesty falls to folly.
Thou, nature, art my goddess; to thy law My services are bound.
Of all these bounds, even from this line to this, With shadowy forests and with champains rich’d, With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads, We make thee lady: to thine and Albany’s issue Be this perpetual.
Bind fast his corky arms.
To this chair bind him.
Bind him, I say.
—Edmund, keep you our sister company: the revenges we are bound to take upon your traitorous father are not fit for your beholding.
Advise the duke where you are going, to a most festinate preparation: we are bound to the like.
This is mere practice, Gloster: By the law of arms thou wast not bound to answer An unknown opposite; thou art not vanquish’d, But cozen’d and beguil’d.
You do me wrong to take me out o’ the grave:— Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears Do scald like molten lead.
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—Tell the hot duke that— No, but not yet: may be he is not well: Infirmity doth still neglect all office Whereto our health is bound: we are not ourselves When nature, being oppress’d, commands the mind To suffer with the body: I’ll forbear; And am fallen out with my more headier will, To take the indispos’d and sickly fit For the sound man.
Persuade me to the murder of your lordship; But that I told him the revenging gods ’Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend; Spoke with how manifold and strong a bond The child was bound to the father;—sir, in fine, Seeing how loathly opposite I stood To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion With his prepared sword, he charges home My unprovided body, lanc’d mine arm; But when he saw my best alarum’d spirits, Bold in the quarrel’s right, rous’d to the encounter, Or whether gasted…