The plays of William Shakspeare, with the corrections and illustr. of various commentators, to which are added notes by S. Johnson and G. Steevens, revised and augmented by I. Reed, with a glossarial index, Том 8
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Сторінка 81 - Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood With solemn reverence : throw away respect, Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty, For you have but mistook me all this while: I live with bread like you, feel want, Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus, How can you say to me I am a king?
Сторінка 235 - Falstaff, you carried your guts away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roared for mercy, and still ran and roared, as ever I heard bull-calf. What a slave art thou, to hack thy sword as thou hast done; and then say, it was in fight! What trick, what device, what starting-hole, canst thou now find out, to hide thee from this open and apparent shame ? Poins. Come, let's hear, Jack : what trick hast thou now ? Fal. By the Lord, I knew ye, as well as He that made ye.
Сторінка 118 - And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. Duch. Alas, poor Richard ! where rode he the whilst ? York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men, After a well-graced actor leaves the stage, Are idly bent on him that enters next, Thinking his prattle to be tedious ; Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes Did scowl on Richard ; no man cried
Сторінка 172 - So, when this loose behaviour I throw off, And pay the debt I never promised, By how much better than my word I am By so much shall I falsify men's hopes ; And like bright metal on a sullen ground, My reformation, glittering o'er my fault, Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes Than that which hath no foil to set it off.
Сторінка 146 - And now art thou cursed from the earth, which hath opened her mouth to receive thy brother's blood from thy hand; when thou tillest the ground, it shall not henceforth yield unto thee her strength; a fugitive and a vagabond shalt thou be in the earth.
Сторінка 35 - O ! who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite By bare imagination of a feast?
Сторінка 149 - Whose arms were moulded in their mothers' womb To chase these pagans in those holy fields Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd For our advantage on the bitter cross.
Сторінка 228 - Go thy ways, old Jack; die when thou wilt ; if manhood, good manhood, be not forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a shotten herring. There live not three good men unhanged in England ; and one of them is fat, and grows old...
Сторінка 260 - I was train'd up in the English court • Where, being but young, I framed to the harp Many an English ditty, lovely well, And gave the tongue a helpful ornament • A virtue that was never seen in you. Hot. Marry, and I 'm glad of it with all my heart. I had rather be a kitten, and cry mew, Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers...
Сторінка 16 - Rich. Rage must be withstood : — Give me his gage : — lions make leopards tame. Nor. Yea, but not change his spots : take but my shame, And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, The purest treasure mortal times afford, Is spotless reputation ; that away, Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay.