The plays of william shakespeare. |
Des de l'interior del llibre
Pàgina 230
Why , look you now , how unworthy a thing you would make of me ; you would play upon me , you would feem to know my ftops ; you would pluck out the heart of my myftery ; you would found me from my lowest note , to the top of my compafs ...
Why , look you now , how unworthy a thing you would make of me ; you would play upon me , you would feem to know my ftops ; you would pluck out the heart of my myftery ; you would found me from my lowest note , to the top of my compafs ...
Què en diuen els usuaris - Escriviu una ressenya
No hem trobat cap ressenya als llocs habituals.
Altres edicions - Mostra-ho tot
Frases i termes més freqüents
againſt anfwer becauſe Benvolio Brabantio Caffio Capulet caufe Clown Cyprus death Desdemona doft doth Emil Enter Exeunt Exit expreffion eyes faid fame fatire feems fenfe fhall fhew fhould fignifies firft flain fleep folio fome foul fpeak fpeech Friar Lawrence ftand fuch fuppofe fure fweet fword give Hamlet Hanmer hath heart heav'n himſelf honeft houſe Iago itſelf Juliet King lady Laer Laertes laft lago Lord Mercutio moft moſt muft muſt myſelf night Nurfe obferve old quarto Ophelia Othello paffage paffion play Polonius POPE prefent purpoſe quarto Queen racter reafon Romeo SCENE Shakespeare ſhall ſhe ſpeak STEEVENS tell thee thefe THEOBALD There's theſe thing thofe thoſe thou art tion Tybalt uſed villain WARB WARBURTON whofe wife William Shakespeare word yourſelf
Passatges populars
Pàgina 202 - Tears in his eyes, distraction in 's aspect, A broken voice, and his whole function suiting With forms to his conceit/ and all for nothing! For Hecuba! What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her...
Pàgina 240 - Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, And batten on this moor ? Ha ! have you eyes ? You cannot call it love, for at your age The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble, And waits upon the judgment ; and what judgment Would step from this to this ? Sense, sure, you have.
Pàgina 255 - What is a man, If his chief good and market of his time Be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more. Sure he that made us with such large discourse, Looking before and after, gave us not That capability and god-like reason To fust in us unus'd.
Pàgina 27 - She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the forefinger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep : Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners...
Pàgina 230 - ... stops; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass; and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ, yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.
Pàgina 165 - I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul ; freeze thy young blood ; Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres...
Pàgina 29 - I fear, too early : for my mind misgives, Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars, Shall bitterly begin his fearful date With this night's revels...
Pàgina 344 - My noble father, I do perceive here a divided duty: To you I am bound for life, and education; My life, and education, both do learn me How to respect you ; you are the lord of duty, I am hitherto your daughter: But here's my husband; And so much duty as my mother show'd To you, preferring you before her father, So much I challenge that I may profess Due to the Moor, my lord.
Pàgina 41 - Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face, Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night. Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny What I have spoke: but farewell compliment! Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say 'Ay,' And I will take thy word: yet, if thou swear'st, Thou mayst prove false; at lovers' perjuries, They say, Jove laughs.
Pàgina 469 - No more of that. I pray you, in your letters, When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, Speak of me as I am ; nothing extenuate, Nor set down aught in malice...
Informació bibliogràfica
| Títol | The plays of william shakespeare. |
| Autor | William Shakespeare |
| Publicat | 1765 |
| Original de | Universitat d’Oxford |
| Digitalitzat el | 19 Oct. 2007 |
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