The Dramatic Works of William Shakespeare: Some account of Shakespeare's life and writings, written by N. Rowe. Dr. Johnson's preface. An essay on the learning of Shakespeare; addressed to Joseph Cradock, Esq. Tempest. Two gentlemen of Verona. Merry wives of Windsor.-v. 2. Measure for measure. Comedy of errors. Merchant of Venice. As you like it.-v. 3. Midsummer night's dream. Much ado nothing. Love's labours lost. Taming of the shrew.-v. 4. All's well that ends well. Twelfth night. Winter's tale. Macbeth.-v. 5. King John. Richard the Second. Henry the Fourth, pt. 1-2.-v. 6. King Henry V. King Henry VI, pt. 1-3.-v. 7. Richard the Third. Henry the Eighth. Coriolanus.-v. 8. Julius Caesar. Antony and Cleopatra. Timon of Athens. Titus Andronicus.-v. 9. Troilus and Cressida. Cymbeline. King Lear. Romeo and Juliet.-v. 10. Hamlet. Othello. Pericles, prince of Tyre
H. Durell, 1817
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Pàgina 169 - By moonshine do the green-sour ringlets make, Whereof the ewe not bites ; and you whose pastime Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid, — Weak masters though ye be, — I have be-dimm'd The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds, And 'twixt the green sea and the...
Pàgina 227 - Who is Silvia? What is she, That all our swains commend her? Holy, fair, and wise is she; The heaven such grace did lend her, That she might admired be. Is she kind as she is fair? For beauty lives with kindness. Love doth to her eyes repair, To help him of his blindness; And, being help'd, inhabits there. Then to Silvia let us sing That Silvia is excelling; She excels each mortal thing Upon the dull earth dwelling. To her let us garlands bring.
Pàgina 171 - Where the bee sucks, there suck I ; In a cowslip's bell I lie : There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat's back I do fly, After summer, merrily : Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
Pàgina 165 - Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air: And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on ; and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.
Pàgina 160 - O, it is monstrous! monstrous! Methought, the billows spoke, and told me of it; The winds did sing it to me; and the thunder, That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc'd The name of Prosper; it did bass my trespass. Therefore my son i" the ooze is bedded ; and I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded, And with him there lie mudded.
Pàgina 170 - Some heavenly music, (which even now I do,) To work mine end upon their senses, that This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff, Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, And, deeper than did ever plummet sound, I'll drown my book.
Pàgina 11 - I loved the man, and do honour his memory, on this side idolatry, as much as any. He was (indeed) honest, and of an open and free nature...
Pàgina 146 - A strange fish ! Were I in England now, as once I was, and had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver : there would this monster make a man : any strange beast there makes a man. When they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian.