Tip:
Highlight text to annotate it
X
This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself
Unto our gentle senses.
This guest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet, does approve
By his loved mansionry that the heaven's breath Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze,
Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle:
Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed The air is delicate.
See, see, our honour'd hostess! The love that follows us sometimes is our
trouble, which still we thank as love. Herein I teach
you How you shall bid God 'ild us for your pains,
And thank us for your trouble.
All our service In Every point twice done, and then done double,
Were poor and single business to contend Against those honours deep and broad wherewith
Your majesty loads our house: for those of old,
And the late dignities heap'd up to them, We rest your hermits.
Where's the thane of Cawdor? We coursed him at the heels, and had a purpose
to be his purveyor: but he rides well, And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath
holp him To his home before us. Fair and noble hostess,
We are your guests tonight
Your servants ever Have theirs, themselves, and what is theirs,
in compt, To make their audits at your highness' pleasure,
Still to return your own.
Give me your hand; Conduct me to mine host: we love him highly,
And shall continue our graces towards him. By your leave, hostess.