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The Plays of William Shakespeare in Ten Volumes: With Corrections ..., Volum 7
Visualització completa - 1778
againſt anſwer appears arms battle bear better blood body brother Cade Clarence Clifford comes crown dead death doth duke earl Edward England Engliſh Enter Exeunt Exit eyes face fair father fear field fight firſt folio France French friends give grace hand haſt hath head hear heart heaven hence Henry himſelf honour hope John Johnson keep king king Henry lady leave live look lord majeſty means mind moſt muſt never night noble once peace play poor prince Pucel quartos queen Richard ſay SCENE ſee ſeems Shakeſpeare ſhall ſhe ſhould ſoldiers ſome Somerſet ſon ſoul ſpeak ſpeech ſtand STEEVENS ſuch Suffolk ſword Talbot tell thee theſe thing thoſe thou thought true unto uſed WARBURTON Warwick whoſe York
Pàgina 477 - God, methinks it were a happy life To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run, How many make the hour full complete; How many hours bring about the day; How many days will finish up the year; How many years a mortal man may live.
Pàgina 125 - Crispian shall ne'er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered, — We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he today that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition: And gentlemen in England now a-bed Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.
Pàgina 477 - So many hours must I take my rest; So many hours must I contemplate; So many hours must I sport myself; So many days my ewes have been with young; So many weeks ere the poor fools will...
Pàgina 171 - The lines given to the Chorus have many admirers ; but the truth is, that in them a little may be praised, and much must be forgiven...
Pàgina 69 - And you, good yeomen, Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture; let us swear That you are worth your breeding— which I doubt not; For there is none of you so mean and base That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game's afoot: Follow your spirit; and upon this charge Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!