The Plays of William Shakspeare, Volum 8F. C. and J. Rivington, 1823 |
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Pàgina 218
... daugh- ter bleeds ! This dagger hath mista'en , for lo ! his house Is empty on the back of Montague , - And is mis - sheathed in my daughter's bosom . La . Cap . O me ! this sight of death is as a bell , That warns my old age to a ...
... daugh- ter bleeds ! This dagger hath mista'en , for lo ! his house Is empty on the back of Montague , - And is mis - sheathed in my daughter's bosom . La . Cap . O me ! this sight of death is as a bell , That warns my old age to a ...
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The Plays of William Shakespeare,: In Eight Volumes, with the Corrections ... William Shakespeare,Samuel Johnson Visualització completa - 1765 |
Frases i termes més freqüents
Alack art thou Benvolio better blood Brabantio Capulet Cassio Cordelia Corn Cyprus daugh daughter dead dear death Desdemona dost thou doth Duke Edmund Emil Emilia Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair Farewell father fear Fool Fortinbras foul Gent gentleman give Gloster Goneril grief Guil Hamlet hand hath hear heart heaven hither honest honour Horatio i'the Iago is't Juliet Kent king knave lady Laer Laertes lago Lear look lord madam Mantua marry matter Mercutio Michael Cassio Moor murder never night noble Nurse o'er Ophelia Othello poison'd Polonius poor Pr'ythee pray Queen Regan Roderigo Romeo SCENE soul speak Stew sweet sword tell thee there's thine thing thou art thou dost thou hast to-night Tybalt villain weep What's wife wilt
Passatges populars
Pàgina 341 - tis not to come ; if it be not to come, it will be now ; if it be not now, yet it will come : the readiness is all.
Pàgina 187 - It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale ; look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east. Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops; I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
Pàgina 230 - gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long : And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad; The nights are wholesome ; then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.
Pàgina 19 - This is the excellent foppery of the world, that, when we are sick in fortune, — often the surfeit of our own behaviour, — we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars: as if we were villains by necessity; fools by heavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, and treachers, by spherical predominance; drunkards, liars, and adulterers, by an enforced obedience of planetary influence; and all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on: an admirable evasion of whoremaster man, to...
Pàgina 273 - I have heard, That guilty creatures, sitting at a play, Have by the very cunning of the scene Been struck so to the soul, that presently They have proclaim'd their malefactions ; For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak With most miraculous organ.
Pàgina 281 - That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger To sound what stop she please. Give me that man That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, As I do thee.
Pàgina 406 - Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls : Who steals my purse, steals trash ; 'tis something, nothing ; 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands : But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him, And makes me poor indeed, Oth.
Pàgina 8 - Why have my sisters husbands, if they say, They love you, all ? Haply, when I shall wed, That lord, whose hand must take my plight, shall carry Half my love with him, half my care, and duty: Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters, To love my father all.
Pàgina 279 - Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus ; but use all gently ; for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may say) whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance, that may give it smoothness.
Pàgina 151 - Tis but thy name that is my enemy ; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague ? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O, be some other name ! What's in a name ! that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet ; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, Retain that dear perfection which he owes Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, And for that name which is no part of thee Take all myself.