Tragedy of Antony and Cleopatra

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Harper & brothers, 1891 - 222 pāgines
 

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Pāgina 142 - Give me my robe, put on my crown ; I have Immortal longings in me. Now no more The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip : — Yare, yare, good Iras ; quick. — Methinks I hear Antony call ; I see him rouse himself To praise my noble act ; I hear him mock The luck of Caesar, which the gods give men To excuse their after wrath : husband, I come : Now to that name my courage prove my title I I am fire and air ; my other elements I give to baser life.
Pāgina 57 - Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides, So many mermaids, tended her i' the eyes, And made their bends adornings ; at the helm A seeming mermaid steers ; the silken tackle Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands, That yarely frame the office. From the barge A strange invisible perfume hits the sense Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast Her people out upon her, and Antony, Enthron'd i...
Pāgina 31 - Let Rome in Tiber melt, and the wide arch Of the ranged empire fall ! Here is my space. Kingdoms are clay : our dungy earth alike Feeds beast as man: the nobleness of life Is to do thus ; when such a mutual pair [Embracing. And such a twain can do't, in which I bind, On pain of punishment, the world to weet We stand up peerless.
Pāgina 99 - The loyalty, well held to fools, does make Our faith mere folly: — Yet he that can endure To follow with allegiance a fallen lord, Does conquer him that did his master conquer, And earns a place i
Pāgina 135 - His legs bestrid the ocean, his rear'd arm Crested the world: his voice was propertied As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends : But when he meant to quail, and shake the orb, He was as rattling thunder.
Pāgina 143 - I am fire, and air; my other elements I give to baser life. So; have you done? Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips. Farewell, kind Charmian; Iras, long farewell.
Pāgina 144 - Char. It is well done, and fitting for a princess Descended of so many royal kings.
Pāgina 177 - Look, where he comes ! Not poppy, nor mandragora, Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep Which thou ow'dst yesterday.
Pāgina 25 - Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety : other women cloy The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry, Where most she satisfies ; for vilest things Become themselves in her, that the holy priests Bless her when she is riggish.
Pāgina 145 - If they had swallow'd poison, 'twould appear By external swelling : but she looks like sleep, As she would catch another Antony In her strong toil of grace.

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