The Tragedy of King Richard the Second

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Yale University Press, 1921 - 149 pàgines
 

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Pàgina 57 - And nothing can we call our own but death, And that small model of the barren earth Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. For God's sake let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of kings...
Pàgina 89 - 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 22 - O, who can hold a fire in his hand, By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite, By bare imagination of a feast?
Pàgina 28 - That England, that was wont to conquer others, Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.
Pàgina 57 - Of comfort no man speak: Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth; Let's choose executors and talk of wills : And yet not so — for what can we bequeath Save our deposed bodies to the ground? Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke's, And nothing can we call our own but death, And that small model of the barren earth Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.
Pàgina 89 - And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. Duch. Alas ! poor Richard ! where rides he the while ? York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men, After a well-graced actor leaves the stage, Are idly bent on him that enters next, Thinking his prattle to be tedious : Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes Did scowl on Richard ; no man cried, God save him...
Pàgina 58 - Allowing him a breath, a little scene, To monarchize, be fear'd and kill with looks, Infusing him with self and vain conceit, As if this flesh which walls about our life Were brass impregnable, and humour'd thus Comes at the last and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king...
Pàgina 101 - Thus play I in one person many people, And none contented. Sometimes am I king; Then treason makes me wish myself a beggar, And so I am: then crushing penury Persuades me I was better when a king; Then am I king'd again; and by and by Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, And straight am nothing: but whate'er I be, Nor I nor any man that but man is With nothing shall be pleas'd, till he be eas'd With being nothing.
Pàgina 65 - I'll give my jewels for a set of beads, My gorgeous palace for a hermitage, My gay apparel for an alms-man's gown, My...
Pàgina 7 - The purest treasure mortal times afford Is spotless reputation ; that away, Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.

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