Of indigent faint souls, past corporal toil,
A hundred almshouses right well suppli'd;
And to the coffers of the King beside,
A thousand pounds by the year. Thus runs the bill.
This would drink deep.
'Twould drink the cup and all.
But what prevention?
The King is full of grace and fair regard.
And a true lover of the holy Church.
The courses of his youth promis'd it not.
The breath no sooner left his father's body,
But that his wildness, mortifi'd in him,
Seem'd to die too; yea, at that very moment
Consideration like an angel came
And whipp'd the offending Adam out of him,
Leaving his body as a paradise
To envelope and contain celestial spirits.
Never was such a sudden scholar made;
Never came reformation in a flood
With such a heady cur
It's Shakespeare! Honestly, this needs a review? How far will culture sink??