The Dramatic Works of William Shakspeare: Winter's tale. Comedy of errors. Macbeth. King John. Richard II. Henry IV, pt. 1Hilliard, Gray,, 1839 |
Des de l'interior del llibre
Resultats 1 - 5 de 100.
Pàgina 13
... Art thou my calf ? Mam . Yes , if you will , my lord . Leon . Thou want'st a rough pash , and the shoots that I have , * To be full like me : yet , they say , we are Almost as like as eggs ; women say so , That will say any thing . But ...
... Art thou my calf ? Mam . Yes , if you will , my lord . Leon . Thou want'st a rough pash , and the shoots that I have , * To be full like me : yet , they say , we are Almost as like as eggs ; women say so , That will say any thing . But ...
Pàgina 14
... Thou dost make possible , things not so held ; Communicat'st with dreams ;-( How can this be ? ) With what's unreal thou coactive art , And fellow'st nothing . Then , ' tis very credent , 3 Thou mayst conjoin with something ; and thou ...
... Thou dost make possible , things not so held ; Communicat'st with dreams ;-( How can this be ? ) With what's unreal thou coactive art , And fellow'st nothing . Then , ' tis very credent , 3 Thou mayst conjoin with something ; and thou ...
Pàgina 17
... thou Hast cleansed my bosom ; I from thee departed Thy penitent reformed ; but we have been Deceived in thy integrity , deceived In that which seems so . Cam . Be it forbid , my lord ! Leon . To bide upon't : Thou art not honest ; or , If ...
... thou Hast cleansed my bosom ; I from thee departed Thy penitent reformed ; but we have been Deceived in thy integrity , deceived In that which seems so . Cam . Be it forbid , my lord ! Leon . To bide upon't : Thou art not honest ; or , If ...
Pàgina 31
... thou art most ignorant by age , Or thou wert born a fool . Camillo's flight , Added to their familiarity , ( Which was as gross as ever touched conjecture , That lacked sight only , nought for approbation , 2 But only seeing , all other ...
... thou art most ignorant by age , Or thou wert born a fool . Camillo's flight , Added to their familiarity , ( Which was as gross as ever touched conjecture , That lacked sight only , nought for approbation , 2 But only seeing , all other ...
Pàgina 37
... thou art woman - tired , 3 unroosted By thy dame Partlet here . - Take up the bastard ; Take't up , I say ; give't to thy crone.1 Paul . Unvenerable be thy hands , if thou Forever Tak'st up the princess , by that forced 5 baseness Which ...
... thou art woman - tired , 3 unroosted By thy dame Partlet here . - Take up the bastard ; Take't up , I say ; give't to thy crone.1 Paul . Unvenerable be thy hands , if thou Forever Tak'st up the princess , by that forced 5 baseness Which ...
Altres edicions - Mostra-ho tot
The Dramatic Works of William Shakspeare: Winter's tale. Comedy of errors ... William Shakespeare Visualització completa - 1839 |
Frases i termes més freqüents
Antipholus arms art thou Aumerle Autolycus Banquo Bast Bastard bear blood Bohemia Boling Bolingbroke breath brother Camillo castle cousin crown death deed dost doth Dromio duke duke of Hereford earl England Enter Ephesus Exeunt Exit eyes fair Falstaff father Faulconbridge fear Fleance folio friends Gaunt give grace grief hand Harry Percy hath hear heart Heaven Holinshed honor Hubert John of Gaunt King John King Richard Lady Leon liege live look lord Macb Macbeth Macd Macduff majesty murder never noble Northumberland old copy reads peace Percy play Poins pr'ythee pray prince quarto queen Rich Rosse SCENE Shakspeare shalt shame Shep soul speak stand Steevens sweet tell thane thee There's thine thing thou art thou hast thought tongue villain wife Witch word York
Passatges populars
Pàgina 264 - Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form ; Then have I reason to be fond of grief.
Pàgina 382 - This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, Fear'd by their breed and famous by their birth, Renowned for their deeds as far from home, For Christian service and true chivalry...
Pàgina 408 - All murder'd: for within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king Keeps Death his court and there the antic sits, Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp...
Pàgina 206 - Had I but died an hour before this chance, I had lived a 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 195 - Like the poor cat i' the adage? MACB. Prithee, peace. I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more is none. LADY M. What beast was't, then, That made you break this enterprise to me? When you durst do it, then you were a man; And, to be more than what you were, you would Be so much more the man. Nor time nor place Did then adhere, and yet you would make both. They have made themselves, and that their fitness now Does unmake you. I have given suck, and know How tender...
Pàgina 198 - 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 marshal'st me the way that I was going; And such an instrument I was to use. Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses, Or else worth all the rest: I see thee still.
Pàgina 194 - Upon the sightless couriers of the air, Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur To prick the sides of my intent, but only Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself And falls on the other.
Pàgina 253 - Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased ; Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow ; Raze out the written troubles of the brain ; And, with some sweet, oblivious antidote, Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff", Which weighs upon the heart ? Doct.
Pàgina 198 - Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand ? 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 552 - Ill-weaved ambition, how much art thou shrunk ! When that this body did contain a spirit, A kingdom for it was too small a bound ; But now, two paces of the vilest earth Is room enough : — this earth, that bears thee dead, Bears not alive so stout a gentleman.