Відгуки відвідувачів - Написати рецензію
Не знайдено жодних рецензій.
Інші видання - Показати все
againſt Anne arms bear better blood brother Buck Buckingham Cade Cardinal changes Clarence Clifford comes crown dead death doth Duke Earl Edward England Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair fall father fear fight firſt follow foul France friends gentle give Grace hand Haſtings hath head hear heart heav'n Henry Highneſs honour hope houſe I'll King King's Lady land leave live look Lord Madam mean mind moſt mother muſt myſelf never noble once peace pleaſe poor pray Prince Queen Rich Richard royal ſay SCENE ſee ſhall ſhe ſhould ſome Somerſet ſon ſoul ſpeak ſtand ſuch Suffolk tears tell thank thee theſe thine thing thoſe thou thought true unto Warwick whoſe wife York young
Сторінка 367 - 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 133 - O God! methinks it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run, How many make the hour full complete; How many hours bring about the day; How many days will finish up the year; How many years a mortal man may live.
Сторінка 217 - With that grim ferryman which poets write of, Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger soul, Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick; Who cried aloud, ' What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence...
Сторінка 217 - With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears Such hideous cries, that with the very noise, I trembling wak'd, and, for a season after, Could not believe but that I was in hell; Such terrible impression made my dream.
Сторінка 133 - To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery? O, yes it doth ; a thousand-fold it doth. And to conclude, — the shepherd's homely curds, His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle, His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, Is far beyond a prince's delicates, His viands sparkling in a golden cup, His body couched in a curious bed, When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him.
Сторінка 133 - So many hours must I tend my flock; So many hours must I take my rest; So many hours must I contemplate; So many hours must I sport myself; So many days my ewes have been with young; So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean; So many years...
Сторінка 367 - This is the state of man ; to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him : The third day comes a frost, a killing frost ; And — when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a ripening — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do.
Сторінка 337 - tis better to be lowly born, And range with humble livers in content, Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief, And wear a golden sorrow.
Сторінка 194 - Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them; Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun And descant on mine own deformity; And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover, To entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Сторінка 216 - All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea. Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept (As 'twere in scorn of eyes,) reflecting gems, That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.