The Plays of Shakspeare: Printed from the Text of Samuel Johnson, George Steevens, and Isaac Reed, Том 11

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Longman, Hurst, Rees, and Orme, 1807

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Сторінка 159 - Gold ? yellow, glittering, precious gold ? No, gods, I am no idle votarist. Roots, you clear heavens ! Thus much of this will make black white, foul fair, Wrong right, base noble, old young, coward valiant.
Сторінка 295 - 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 322 - You have won a happy victory to Rome : But, for your son, — believe it, O, believe it, Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd, If not most mortal to him.
Сторінка 317 - What is that curt'sy worth, or those doves' eyes, Which can make gods forsworn? — I melt, and am not Of stronger earth than others. — My mother bows ; As if Olympus to a molehill should In supplication nod; and my young boy Hath an aspect of intercession, which Great nature cries, Deny not.

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