The Dramatic Works of William Shakspeare: King Richard III. King Henry VIII. Troilus and Cressida. Timon of Athens. CoriolanusPhillips, Sampson, 1850 - 38 стор. |
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Сторінка 13
... Sweet saint , for charity , be not so curst . Anne . Foul devil , for God's sake , hence , and trouble us not ; For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell , Filled it with cursing cries , and deep exclaims . If thou delight to view thy ...
... Sweet saint , for charity , be not so curst . Anne . Foul devil , for God's sake , hence , and trouble us not ; For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell , Filled it with cursing cries , and deep exclaims . If thou delight to view thy ...
Сторінка 16
... sweet bosom . Anne . If I thought that , I tell thee , homicide , These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks ... sweet a place . Anne . Never hung poison on a fouler toad . Out of my sight ! thou dost infect mine eyes . Glo ...
... sweet bosom . Anne . If I thought that , I tell thee , homicide , These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks ... sweet a place . Anne . Never hung poison on a fouler toad . Out of my sight ! thou dost infect mine eyes . Glo ...
Сторінка 17
... sweet soothing word ; But now thy beauty is proposed my fee , My proud heart sues , and prompts my tongue to speak . [ She looks scornfully at him . Teach not thy lip such scorn ; for it was made For kissing , lady , not for such ...
... sweet soothing word ; But now thy beauty is proposed my fee , My proud heart sues , and prompts my tongue to speak . [ She looks scornfully at him . Teach not thy lip such scorn ; for it was made For kissing , lady , not for such ...
Сторінка 20
... sweet prince , And made her widow to a woful bed ? On me , whose all not equals Edward's moiety ? On me , that halt , and am misshapen thus ? My dukedom to a beggarly denier , 1 I do mistake my person all this while ; Upon my life , she ...
... sweet prince , And made her widow to a woful bed ? On me , whose all not equals Edward's moiety ? On me , that halt , and am misshapen thus ? My dukedom to a beggarly denier , 1 I do mistake my person all this while ; Upon my life , she ...
Сторінка 53
... sweet flowers are slow , and weeds make haste . Duch . ' Good faith , ' good faith , the saying did not hold In him that did object the same to thee . He was the wretched'st thing , when he was young ; So long a growing , and so ...
... sweet flowers are slow , and weeds make haste . Duch . ' Good faith , ' good faith , the saying did not hold In him that did object the same to thee . He was the wretched'st thing , when he was young ; So long a growing , and so ...
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Achilles Agam Agamemnon Ajax Alcib Alcibiades Anne Antium Apem Apemantus Aufidius bear beseech blood brother Buck Buckingham Calchas cardinal Catesby Cham Clar Clarence Cominius Coriolanus Cres Cressida curse death Diomed dost doth Duch duke Edward Eliz Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair fear Flav follow fool friends Gent give Gloster gods grace hate hath hear heart Heaven Hect Hector Holinshed honor Kath lady live look lord Lord Chamberlain lord Hastings madam Marcius means Menelaus Menenius mother Murd ne'er never noble Pandarus Patr Patroclus peace Poet pr'ythee pray Priam prince queen Rich Richmond Rome SCENE Senators Serv Servant Shakspeare Sir Thomas Lovell soul speak sweet sword tell thee Ther there's Thersites thine thing thou art thou hast Timon Troilus Trojan Troy Ulyss unto Volces word
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Сторінка 201 - 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. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye ; I feel my heart new open'd. O, how wretched Is that poor man, that hangs on princes...
Сторінка 183 - Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain-tops that freeze, Bow themselves, when he did sing : To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung; as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring. Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing, die.
Сторінка 203 - O my lord ! Must I then leave you ? Must I needs forego So good, so noble, and so true a master ? Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron, With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord. — •' The king shall have my service ; but my prayers, For ever and for ever, shall be yours.
Сторінка 201 - So farewell to the little good you bear me. Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! 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 196 - The letter, as I live, with all the business I writ to his holiness. Nay, then, farewell ! I have touched the highest point of all my greatness ; And, from that full meridian of my glory, I haste now to my setting. I shall fall Like a bright exhalation in the evening, And no man see me more.
Сторінка 202 - Long in his highness' favor, and do justice For truth's sake, and his conscience ; that his bones, When he has run his course, and sleeps in blessings, May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on 'em !
Сторінка 34 - Who pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood, 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 204 - ... 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. Serve the king ; And...
Сторінка 204 - 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 210 - O father abbot, An old man, broken with the storms of state, Is come to lay his weary bones among ye; Give him a little earth for charity...