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All's bear better Biron blood bring brother comes Corio Cymb daughter death doth Duke Enter Exeunt Exit eyes face fair faith father fear follow fool Ford gentle give grace hand hast hath head hear heart heaven hold honour hope husband I'll John keep king lady Lear leave Leon live look lord Love's L. L. Macb Madam marry master mean Mids mind mistress nature never night play poor pray present Rich SCENE sense serve Shakespeare soul speak spirit stand stay sweet tell Temp term thank thee thing thou thou art thought tongue true wife woman young
PÓgina 347 - And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. Duch. Alas, poor Richard ! where rides he the while ? York. As. in a theatre, the eyes of men, After a well-grac'd 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, God save him ; No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home: But dust was thrown upon his sacred head : Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off, — His face...
PÓgina 315 - Or, What good love may I perform for you ? Many a poor man's son would have lain still, And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you; But you, at your sick service, had a prince. Nay, you may think my love was crafty love, And call it cunning. Do, an' if you will ; If heaven be pleased that you must use me ill, Why, then you must.
PÓgina 5 - A strange fish ! Were I in England now, as once I was, and had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver : there would this monster make a man; any strange beast there makes a man : when they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. Legged like a man ! and his fins like arms ! Warm o...
PÓgina 143 - Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow And coughing drowns the parson's saw And birds sit brooding in the snow And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-whit; Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
PÓgina 68 - In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice ; To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, And blown with restless violence round about The pendent world ; or to be worse than worst Of those, that lawless and incertain thoughts Imagine howling ! 'tis too horrible ! The weariest and most loathed worldly life, That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment Can lay on nature, is a paradise To what we fear of death.
PÓgina 176 - You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand, Such as I am: though for myself alone I would not be ambitious in my wish To wish myself much better, yet for you I would be trebled twenty times myself, A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times More rich; That only to stand high in your account, I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends, Exceed account.
PÓgina viii - Many were the wit-combats betwixt him and Ben Jonson; which two I behold like a Spanish great galleon and an English man-of-war; Master Jonson (like the former) was built far higher in learning; solid, but slow, in his performances. Shakespeare, with the English man-of-war, lesser in bulk, but lighter in sailing, could turn with all tides, tack about, and take advantage of all winds, by the quickness of his wit and invention.