The Dramatic Writings of Will. Shakespeare: With Introductory Prefaces to Each Play ; Printed Complete from the Best Editions, Volum 6R. Morison Junr., 1798 |
Des de l'interior del llibre
Resultats 1 - 5 de 58.
Pàgina 17
... poor and fingle business , to contend Against thofe honours , deep and broad , wherewith Your majefty loads our houfe : For thofe of old , And the late dignities heap'd up to them , We reft your hermits . King . Where's the thane of ...
... poor and fingle business , to contend Against thofe honours , deep and broad , wherewith Your majefty loads our houfe : For thofe of old , And the late dignities heap'd up to them , We reft your hermits . King . Where's the thane of ...
Pàgina 19
... poor cat i ' th ' adage . Macb . Pr'ythee , peace : I dare do all that may become a man Who dares do more is none . Lady . What beast was't then , That made you break this enterprise to me ? When you durft do it , then you were a man ...
... poor cat i ' th ' adage . Macb . Pr'ythee , peace : I dare do all that may become a man Who dares do more is none . Lady . What beast was't then , That made you break this enterprise to me ? When you durft do it , then you were a man ...
Pàgina 39
... poor malice Remains in danger of her former tooth . [ fuffer , But let the frame of things disjoint , both the worlds Ere we will eat our meal in fear , and fleep In the affliction of thefe terrible dreams , That shake us nightly ...
... poor malice Remains in danger of her former tooth . [ fuffer , But let the frame of things disjoint , both the worlds Ere we will eat our meal in fear , and fleep In the affliction of thefe terrible dreams , That shake us nightly ...
Pàgina 57
... Poor bird ! thou'dft never fear the net , The pit - fall , nor the gin . [ nór lime , Son . Why fhould I , mother ? Poor birds they are not fet for . My father is not dead for all your faying . L. Mard . Yes , he is dead ; how wilt thou ...
... Poor bird ! thou'dft never fear the net , The pit - fall , nor the gin . [ nór lime , Son . Why fhould I , mother ? Poor birds they are not fet for . My father is not dead for all your faying . L. Mard . Yes , he is dead ; how wilt thou ...
Pàgina 58
... poor monkey ! But how wilt thou do for a father › if Son . If he were dead , you'd weep for him : you would not , it were a good fign that I fhould quickly have a new father . L. Macd . Poor prattler ! how thou talk'st ! Enter Meffenger ...
... poor monkey ! But how wilt thou do for a father › if Son . If he were dead , you'd weep for him : you would not , it were a good fign that I fhould quickly have a new father . L. Macd . Poor prattler ! how thou talk'st ! Enter Meffenger ...
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The Dramatic Writings of Will. Shakespeare. With Introductory Prefaces to ... William Shakespeare Visualització completa - 1798 |
Frases i termes més freqüents
Afide againſt anfwer Banquo Beat Beatrice Benedick beſt blood Bora brother Claud Claudio Clot Cloten coufin CYMBELINE defire Dogb doth duke of Burgundy Engliſh Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fafe faid falfe faſhion father fear feem fervice fhall fhew fhould fignior flain Fleance fleep foldier fome foul fpeak fpirits France French ftill ftrange fuch fure fwear fword Gower grace GUIDERIUS Harfleur hath hear heart Henry Hero himſelf honour horfe huſband Iach IACHIMO Imogen itſelf Kath king lady lefs Leon Leonato look lord Macb Macbeth Macd Macduff Mach mafter majefty miſtreſs moft moſt muft muſt myſelf night Pedro Pifanio Pift pleaſe Poft Pofthumus pray prefent prince purpoſe Queen reafon Roffe SCENE ſhall ſhe ſpeak ſtand tell thane thee thefe there's theſe thing thofe thoſe thou art whofe Witch worfe
Passatges populars
Pàgina 68 - This story shall the good man teach his son; And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered...
Pàgina 18 - 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?
Pàgina 6 - Where some, like magistrates, correct at home, Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad, Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds, Which pillage they with merry march bring home To the...
Pàgina 25 - Dear Duff, I pr'ythee, contradict thyself, And say, it is not so. Re-enter MACBETH and LENOX. Macb. Had I but died an hour before this chance, I had liv'da 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 38 - The times have been That, when the brains were out, the man would die, And there an end ; but now they rise again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our stools.
Pàgina 66 - I have lived long enough : my way of life Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf ; And that which should accompany old age, As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, I must not look to have ; but, in their stead, Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath, Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not.
Pàgina 9 - For in my way it lies. Stars hide your fires ! Let not light see my black and deep desires : The eye wink at the hand ! yet let that be, Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.
Pàgina 21 - Infirm of purpose ! Give me the daggers : the sleeping and the dead Are but as pictures : 'tis the eye of childhood That fears a painted devil.
Pàgina 66 - By Jove, I am not covetous for gold, Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost ; It yearns me not if men my garments wear ; Such outward things dwell not in my desires : But if it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive.
Pàgina 10 - It is too full o' the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way : thou wouldst be great ; Art not without ambition ; but without The illness should attend it : what thou wouldst highly, That wouldst thou holily ; wouldst not play false, And yet wouldst wrongly win...