| But I got a mole inside this other guy's operation, and she gyve me the heads up that her boss was coming out, gave me all the Intel they have on Pelham, so... got my ass on a plane. | |
| But I got a mole inside this other guy's operation, and she gyve me the heads up that her boss was coming out, gave me all the Intel they have on Pelham, so... got my ass on a plane. | |
| The other motive why to a public count I might not go is the great love the general gender bear him who, dipping all his faults in their affection would, like the spring that turneth wood to stone convert his gyves to graces so that my arrows, too slightly timbered for so loud a wind would have reverted to my bow again, but not where I had aimed them. | |
| The other motive why to a public count I might not go is the great love the general gender bear him who, dipping all his faults in their affection would, like the spring that turneth wood to stone convert his gyves to graces so that my arrows, too slightly timbered for so loud a wind would have reverted to my bow again, but not where I had aimed them. | |
| My lord, as I was sewing in my chamber Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbraced no hat upon his head, his stockings fouled ungartered, and down-gyved to his ankle pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other and with a look so piteous in purport as if he had been loosed out of hell to speak of horrors he comes before me. | |
| My lord, as I was sewing in my closet, Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbraced, no hat upon his head, his stockings foul'd, ungarter'd, and down-gyved to his ankle, pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other, and with a look so piteous in purport | |
| My lord, as I was sewing in my chamber Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbraced no hat upon his head, his stockings fouled ungartered, and down-gyved to his ankle pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other and with a look so piteous in purport as if he had been loosed out of hell to speak of horrors he comes before me. | |
| My lord, as I was sewing in my closet, Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbraced, no hat upon his head, his stockings foul'd, ungarter'd, and down-gyved to his ankle, pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other, and with a look so piteous in purport | |
