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Achilles againſt Ajax Anne Arms bear better Blood bring Brother Buck callid Clarence comes Crown Death doth Duke Edward Enter Exeunt Exit Eyes fair fall Father fear fight firſt follow Friends give Gods Grace Hand haſt hath Head hear Heart Heav'n Henry hold Honour hope I'll keep King Lady leave live look Lord Love Madam matter mean morrow moſt Mother muſt Name never Night Noble once Peace poor Power pray Prince Queen Rich Richard Rome ſay SCENE ſee ſelf ſhall ſhe ſhould ſome Sons Soul ſpeak ſtand ſuch ſweet Sword Tears tell thank thee Ther theſe thing thoſe thou thought Tongue Troi Troilus true unto Warwick whoſe World York
Сторінка 1630 - I'll have her, but I will not keep her long. What ! I, that kill'd her husband and his father, To take her in her heart's extremest hate ; With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, The bleeding witness of her hatred by ; Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me, And I no friends to back my suit withal, But the plain devil, and dissembling looks, And yet to win her, — all the world to nothing ! Ha!
Сторінка 1824 - And posts, like the commandment of a king, Sans check to good and bad : but when the planets In evil mixture to disorder wander, What plagues, and what portents, what mutiny, What raging of the sea, shaking of earth, Commotion in the winds, frights, changes, horrors, Divert and crack, rend and deracinate The unity and married calm of states Quite from their fixure ! O ! when degree is shak'd, Which is the ladder to all high designs, The enterprise is sick.
Сторінка 1784 - After my death I wish no other herald, No other speaker of my living actions, To keep mine honour from corruption, But such an honest chronicler as Griffith.
Сторінка 1777 - 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 1783 - From his cradle He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one ; Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading : Lofty and sour to them that loved him not ; But, to those men that sought him, sweet as summer...
Сторінка 1567 - 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...
Сторінка 1998 - Volsces ; men and lads, Stain all your edges on me. — Boy ! False hound ! If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there, That, like an eagle in a dovecote, I Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli : Alone I did it. — Boy ! Auf.
Сторінка 1749 - 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.