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Pàgina 354 - ning clamour in the slippery clouds, That, with the hurly, death itself awakes? Canst thou, O partial sleep ! give thy repose To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude; And in the calmest and most stillest night, With all appliances and means to boot, Deny it to a king?
Pàgina 173 - This England never did, (nor never shall,) Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, But when it first did help to wound itself. Now these her princes are come home again, Come the three corners of the world in arms, And we shall shock them : Nought shall make us rue, If England to itself do rest but true.
Pàgina 60 - tis done, then 'twere well It were done quickly : if the assassination Could trammel up the consequence, and catch, With his surcease, success ; that but this blow Might be the be-all and the end-all here, But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, — We'd jump the life to come. — But in these cases, We still have judgment here ; that we but teach Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return To plague the inventor : this even-handed justice Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice...
Pàgina 68 - 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 408 - Creatures that by a rule in nature teach The act of order to a peopled kingdom. They have a king and officers of sorts ; 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 tent-royal of their emperor ; Who, busied in his majesty, surveys The singing masons building roofs of gold, The civil citizens kneading up the honey,...
Pàgina 65 - Methought I heard a voice cry "Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep," the innocent sleep, Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care, The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast, — Lady M. What do you mean? Macb. Still it cried, "Sleep no more!" to all the house: "Glamis hath murder'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor Shall sleep no more, Macbeth shall sleep no more!
Pàgina 233 - 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 63 - 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 57 - Yet do I fear thy nature; 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: thou'dst have, great Glamis, That which cries, "Thus thou must do, if thou have it" ; And that which rather thou dost fear to do, Than wishest should be undone.
Pàgina 275 - Should I turn upon the true prince ? Why, thou knowest I am as valiant as Hercules ; but beware instinct; the lion will not touch the true prince : instinct is a great matter ; I was a coward on instinct. I shall think the better of myself and thee, during my life ; I for a valiant lion, and thou for a true prince.