Altres edicions - Mostra-ho tot
The Plays and Poems of William Shakspeare: With the Corrections and ..., Volum 6
Visualització completa - 1821
Antony and Cleopatra art thou beauty Benvolio better BOSWELL brest called Capulet daughter dead death dost doth DUKE edition editors emendation Enter Exeunt eyes fair father fear fool Fortune Friar fryer give gleek greefe hand hart hath heart heaven JOHNSON King Henry kiss lady live lord Love's Labour's Lost lovers lyfe MALONE Mantua married means Mercutio Montague musick mynde night nurce NURSE old copy Orlando Paris passage payne Phebe play poem poet Pope pray prince quarto quintain quoth Rape of Lucrece Romeo Romeus and Juliet Rosalind scene second folio Shakspeare Shakspeare's sorrow speak speech STEEVENS stryfe sweet tears tell thee theyr thing thou art thou hast thou shalt thought tomb TOUCH Tybalt unto Verona WARBURTON wilt word wyfe youth
Pàgina 380 - The seasons' difference ; as, the icy fang, And churlish chiding of the winter's wind ; Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, — This is no flattery : these are counsellors, That feelingly persuade me what I am.
Pàgina 52 - Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs; The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers; The traces, of the smallest spider's web; The collars, of the moonshine's watery beams; Her whip, of cricket's bone ; the lash, of film ; Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat, Not half so big as a round little worm Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid; Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut, Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub, Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers And in this state she gallops night...
Pàgina 66 - Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this ; For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers
Pàgina 242 - O ! here Will I set up my everlasting rest, And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From this world-wearied flesh.
Pàgina 77 - tis not to me she speaks : Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
Pàgina 84 - O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, That monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.
Pàgina 78 - O ! speak again, bright angel ; for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head, As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds, And sails upon the bosom of the air.
Pàgina 161 - It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east: Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops; I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
Pàgina 56 - True, I talk of dreams ; Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy ; Which is as thin of substance as the air ; And more inconstant than the wind...