Shakespeare: A Biographic Æsthetic Study

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Lee and Shepard, 1879 - 212 стор.

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Сторінка 146 - Yet it shall come for me to do thee good. I had a thing to say, but let it go: The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day, Attended with the pleasures of the world, Is all too wanton and too full of gawds To give me audience : if the midnight bell Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, Sound one into the drowsy race of night...
Сторінка 145 - Grief fills the room up of my absent child. Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me ; Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form ; Then have I reason to be fond of grief.
Сторінка 163 - O that this too too solid flesh would melt, Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew! Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd His canon 'gainst self-slaughter!
Сторінка 83 - Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room. Even in the eyes of all posterity That wear this world out to the ending doom.
Сторінка 163 - God ! How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable Seem to me all the uses of this world ! Fie on't! O fie! 'tis an unweeded garden, That grows to seed ; things rank and gross in nature Possess it merely.
Сторінка 78 - O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide, The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, That did not better for my life provide Than public means which public manners breeds. Thence comes it that my name receives a brand ; 5 And almost thence my nature is subdued To what it works in, like the dyer's hand...
Сторінка 71 - The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together : our virtues would be proud if our faults whipped them not; and our crimes would despair if they were not cherished by our virtues.
Сторінка 91 - ... supposes he is as well able to bombast out a blank verse as the best of you; and being an absolute Johannes Factotum, is in his own conceit the only Shake-scene in a country.
Сторінка 170 - Why, what should be the fear ? I do not set my life at a pin's fee ; And for my soul, what can it do to that, Being a thing immortal as itself ? It waves me forth again : I'll follow it.
Сторінка 75 - Tired with all these, for restful death I cry — As, to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity...

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