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The Dramatic Works of William Shakspeare: Winter's tale. Comedy of errors ...
Visualització completa - 1854
answer arms Attendants Bast bear better blood Boling born breath bring brother comes cousin crown dead death dost doth duke earth England Enter Exeunt Exit eyes face fair faith father fear follow France friends give grace grief hand hath head hear heart Heaven Henry hold Holinshed honor horse hour I'll John keep king Lady land leave Leon live look lord Macb Macbeth mark master means meet mind nature never night noble old copy once peace Percy play poor pray present prince queen reads rest Rich Richard Rosse SCENE Shakspeare soul speak stand stay sweet tell thee thing thou art thought tongue true wife Witch York young
Pàgina 206 - Had I but died an hour before this chance, I had lived a blessed time; for from this instant There's nothing serious in mortality: All is but toys: renown and grace is dead ; The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of.
Pàgina 319 - I knit my handkerchief about your brows, (The best I had ; a princess wrought it me,) And I did never ask it you again ; And with my hand at midnight held your head ; And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, Still and anon cheered up the heavy time ; Saying, What lack you ? and, Where lies your grief?
Pàgina 198 - Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand ? Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight ? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain ? I see thee yet, in form as palpable As this which now I draw. Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going ; And such an instrument I was to use. Mine eyes are made the fools o...
Pàgina 65 - But nature makes that mean: so, o'er that art, Which you say adds to nature, is an art That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock, And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of nobler race: this is an art Which does mend nature, — change it rather; but The art itself is nature.
Pàgina 445 - I have been studying how I may compare This prison where I live unto the world: And for because the world is populous, And here is not a creature but myself, I cannot do it; yet I'll hammer it out. My brain I'll prove the female to my soul; My soul the father: and these two beget A generation of still-breeding thoughts, And these same thoughts people this little world, In humours like the people of this world, For no thought is contented.
Pàgina 552 - Ill-weaved ambition, how much art thou shrunk ! When that this body did contain a spirit, A kingdom for it was too small a bound ; But now, two paces of the vilest earth Is room enough : — this earth, that bears thee dead, Bears not alive so stout a gentleman.