Select Plays of William Shakespeare: In Six Volumes. With the Corrections & Illustrations of Various Commentators. To which are Added, Notes, Volum 3

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Pàgina 81 - Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood With solemn reverence : throw away respect, Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty, For you have but mistook me all this while: I live with bread like you, feel want, Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus, How can you say to me I am a king?
Pàgina 80 - All murder'd: for within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king Keeps Death his court; and there the antic sits, Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp...
Pàgina 40 - This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, Fear'd by their breed and famous by their birth, Renowned for their deeds as far from home, For Christian service and true chivalry, As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son ; This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, Dear for her reputation through the world, Is now leas'd out, I die pronouncing it, Like to a tenement or pelting farm...
Pàgina 146 - And now art thou cursed from the earth, which hath opened her mouth to receive thy brother's blood from thy hand. When thou tillest the ground, it shall not henceforth yield unto thee her strength: A fugitive and a vagabond shalt thou be in the earth.
Pàgina 16 - My dear, dear lord, The purest treasure mortal times afford Is spotless reputation ; that away, Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.
Pàgina 149 - Whose arms were moulded in their mothers' womb To chase these pagans in those holy fields Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd For our advantage on the bitter cross.
Pàgina 257 - Why, so can I ; or so can any man : But will they come, when you do call for them ? Glend.
Pàgina 118 - 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 still combating with tears and smiles, The badges of his grief and patience, That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, And barbarism itself have pitied him.
Pàgina 41 - England, bound in with the triumphant sea, Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame, With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds: That England, that was wont to conquer others, Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.
Pàgina 176 - Out of my grief and my impatience, Answer'd neglectingly I know not what, He should, or he should not; for he made me mad, To see him shine so brisk and smell so sweet, And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman...

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