The Plays of William Shakspeare: King Henry VIII ; Troilus and Cressida ; Timon of Athens ; CoriolanusJ. Nichols, 1811 |
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Сторінка 18
... hast thou heard him At any time speak aught ? Surv . By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Hopkins . K. Hen . What was that Hopkins ? Surv . He was brought to this Sir , a Chartreux friar , How know'st thou this ? His confessor ; who fed him ...
... hast thou heard him At any time speak aught ? Surv . By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Hopkins . K. Hen . What was that Hopkins ? Surv . He was brought to this Sir , a Chartreux friar , How know'st thou this ? His confessor ; who fed him ...
Сторінка 74
... hast forc'd me Out of thy honest truth to play the woman . Let's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me , Cromwell ; And , when I am forgotten , as I shall be ; And sleep in dull cold marble , where no mention Of me more must be heard of ...
... hast forc'd me Out of thy honest truth to play the woman . Let's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me , Cromwell ; And , when I am forgotten , as I shall be ; And sleep in dull cold marble , where no mention Of me more must be heard of ...
Сторінка 78
... hast the sweetest face I ever look'd on.- Sir , as I have a soul , she is au angel ; Our king has all the Indies in his arms , And more , and richer , when he strains that lady : I cannot blame his conscience . 1 Gent . They , that bear ...
... hast the sweetest face I ever look'd on.- Sir , as I have a soul , she is au angel ; Our king has all the Indies in his arms , And more , and richer , when he strains that lady : I cannot blame his conscience . 1 Gent . They , that bear ...
Сторінка 83
... hast made me , With thy religious truth , and modesty , Now in his ashes honour : Peace be with him ! - Patience , be near me still ; and set me lower : I have not long to trouble thee . - Good Griffith , Cause the musicians play me ...
... hast made me , With thy religious truth , and modesty , Now in his ashes honour : Peace be with him ! - Patience , be near me still ; and set me lower : I have not long to trouble thee . - Good Griffith , Cause the musicians play me ...
Сторінка 100
... hast a cruel nature , and a bloody.- Good man , [ To Cranmer . ] sit down . Now let me see the proudest He , that dares most , but wag his finger at thee : By all that's holy , he had better starve , Than but once think his place ...
... hast a cruel nature , and a bloody.- Good man , [ To Cranmer . ] sit down . Now let me see the proudest He , that dares most , but wag his finger at thee : By all that's holy , he had better starve , Than but once think his place ...
Загальні терміни та фрази
Achilles Æneas Agam Agamemnon Ajax Alcib Alcibiades Antenor Antium Apem Apemantus Athens Aufidius bear beseech blood Calchas cardinal Cham Cominius Coriolanus Cres Cressid Crom Diomed dost doth duke Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair Farewell fear fellow Flav fool friends Gent give gods grace Grecian Greeks hate hath hear heart heaven Hect Hector Helen honour i'the Kath king king's lady Lart Lartius look Lord Chamberlain lord Timon madam Marcius Menelaus Menenius musick ne'er Nestor never noble o'the Pandarus Patr Patroclus peace Pr'ythee pray Priam prince queen Rome SCENE Senators Serv Servant Sir Thomas Lovell soul speak stand Suff sweet sword tell thank thee Ther there's Thersites thine thing thou art thou hast Timon to't tongue Troilus Trojan Troy true trumpet Ulyss voices Volces What's word worthy
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Сторінка 173 - Take the instant way, For honour travels in a strait so narrow, Where one but goes abreast ; keep, then, the path ; For Emulation hath a thousand sons That one by one pursue ; if you give way, Or hedge aside from the direct forthright, Like to an enter'd tide, they all rush by, And leave you hindmost.
Сторінка 281 - Thus much of this will make black white, foul fair, Wrong right, base noble, old young, coward valiant. Ha, you gods! why this? what this, you gods? Why, this Will lug your priests and servants from your sides, Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads: This yellow slave Will knit and break religions; bless the accurs'd; Make the hoar leprosy ador'd; place thieves, And give them title, knee, and approbation, With senators on the bench...
Сторінка 70 - O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours ! There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or women have; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again.
Сторінка 130 - Force should be right; or rather, right and wrong, Between whose endless jar justice resides, Should lose their names, and so should justice too. Then...
Сторінка 70 - Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory ; But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride At length broke under me ; and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
Сторінка 104 - Her own shall bless her: Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, And hang their heads with sorrow. Good grows with her; In her days every man shall eat in safety Under his own vine what he plants, and sing The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours.
Сторінка 173 - Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, A great-sized monster of ingratitudes: Those scraps are good deeds past; which are devour'd As fast as they are made, forgot as soon As done...
Сторінка 72 - Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not. Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr!
Сторінка 401 - I loved the maid I married ; never man Sigh'd truer breath ; but that I see thee here, Thou noble thing ! more dances my rapt heart Than when I first my wedded mistress saw Bestride my threshold.
Сторінка 425 - What have you done ? Behold, the heavens do ope, The gods look down, and this unnatural scene They laugh at. O my mother, mother ! O ! You have won a happy victory to Rome ; But, for your son, — believe it, O, believe it, — Most dangerously you have with him prevailed, If not most mortal to him.