The Plays of William Shakspeare: Accurately Printed from the Text of the Corrected Copy Left by the Late George Steevens, with Glossorial Notes and a Sketch of the Life of Shakspeare, Volum 8
Phillips, Sampson, 1854
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The Plays of William Shakespeare: Accurately Printed from the Text ..., Volum 8
Visualització completa - 1823
The Plays of William Shakspeare: Accurately Printed from the Text of the ...
Visualització completa - 1830
The Plays of William Shakspeare: Accurately Printed from the Text ..., Volum 8
Visualització completa - 1811
Alack art thou Benvolio better blood Brabantio Capulet Cassio Cordelia Corn Cyprus daughter dead dear death Desdemona dost thou doth Duke Edmund Emil Emilia Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair Farewell father fear Fool Fortinbras foul Gent gentleman give Gloster Goneril grief Guil Hamlet hand hath hear heart heaven hither honest honour Horatio i'the Iago is't Juliet Kent king knave lady Laer Laertes lago Lear look lord madam Mantua marry matter Mercutio Michael Cassio Moor murder never night noble Nurse o'er Ophelia Othello poison'd Polonius poor Pr'ythee pray Queen Regan Roderigo Romeo SCENE soul speak Stew sweet sword tell thee there's thine thing thou art thou dost thou hast to-night trumpet Tybalt villain What's wife wilt
Pàgina 408 - Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls : Who steals my purse, steals trash ; 'tis something, nothing ; 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands : But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him, And makes me poor indeed, Oth.
Pàgina 62 - Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you From seasons such as these ? O, I have ta'en Too little care of this ! Take physic, pomp ; Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, That thou mayst shake the superflux to them, And show the heavens more just.
Pàgina 150 - But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks! It is the east, and Juliet is the sun ! — Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid art far more fair than she...
Pàgina 296 - In the corrupted currents of this world Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice, And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself Buys out the law, but 'tis not so above; There is no shuffling, there the action lies In his true nature, and we ourselves compelled, Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, To give in evidence.
Pàgina 281 - Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue ; but if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus ; but use all gently ; for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may say) whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance, that may give it smoothness.
Pàgina 282 - ... accent of Christians nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed, that I have thought some of nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably.
Pàgina 15 - Thou, nature, art my goddess ; to thy law My services are bound. Wherefore should I Stand in the plague of custom, and permit The curiosity of nations to deprive me, For that I am some twelve or fourteen moonshines Lag of a brother ? Why bastard ? wherefore base? When my dimensions are as well compact, My mind as generous, and my shape as true, As honest madam's issue? Why brand they us With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base?
Pàgina 333 - No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him thither with modesty enough, and likelihood to lead it; as thus: Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth into dust; the dust is earth; of earth we make loam, and why of that loam, whereto he was converted, might they not stop a beer-barrel?
Pàgina 293 - Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me! You would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass : and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ. Yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe?
Pàgina 370 - scapes i' the imminent, deadly breach ; Of being taken by the insolent foe And sold to slavery ; of my redemption thence, And portance in my travel's history, Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle, Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven. It was my hint to speak, such was the process ; And of the Cannibals that each other eat, The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads Do grow beneath their shoulders.