The Works of Shakespeare: In Eight Volumes : Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected, with Notes, Explanatory, and Critical, Volum 8C. Hitch and L. Hawes, J. and R. Tonson, B. Dod, G. Woodfall, J. Rivington, R. Baldwin, T. Longman, S. Crowder and Company, W. Johnson, C. Corbet, T. Lownds, and T. Caslon, 1762 |
Des de l'interior del llibre
Resultats 1 - 5 de 44.
Pàgina 5
Τ WO boufbolds , both alike in dignity , In fair Verona , ( where we lay our Scene ) From ancient Grudge break to new mutiny ; Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean . From forth the fatal loins of these two foes , A pair of star ...
Τ WO boufbolds , both alike in dignity , In fair Verona , ( where we lay our Scene ) From ancient Grudge break to new mutiny ; Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean . From forth the fatal loins of these two foes , A pair of star ...
Pàgina 46
Now is the fun upon the highmost hill Of this day's journey ; and from nine ' till twelve Is three long hours - and yet she is not come ; Had fhe affections and warm youthful blood , She'd be as fwift in motion as a ball ; My words ...
Now is the fun upon the highmost hill Of this day's journey ; and from nine ' till twelve Is three long hours - and yet she is not come ; Had fhe affections and warm youthful blood , She'd be as fwift in motion as a ball ; My words ...
Pàgina 48
Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks , They'll be in fcarlet ftraight at any news . Hie you to church , I must another way , To fetch a ladder , by the which your love Muft climb a bird's - neft foon , when it is dark .
Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks , They'll be in fcarlet ftraight at any news . Hie you to church , I must another way , To fetch a ladder , by the which your love Muft climb a bird's - neft foon , when it is dark .
Pàgina 49
... we shall not ' scape a brawl : For now these hot days is the mad blood stirring . Mer . Thou art like one of those fellows , that , when he enters the confines of a tavern , claps me his fword up- on the table , and fays , God fend ...
... we shall not ' scape a brawl : For now these hot days is the mad blood stirring . Mer . Thou art like one of those fellows , that , when he enters the confines of a tavern , claps me his fword up- on the table , and fays , God fend ...
Pàgina 54
Unhappy fight ! alas , the blood is fpill'd Of my dear kinfman- -Prince , as thou art true , For blood of ours , fhed blood of Montague . Prin . Benvolio , who began this fray ? Ben . Tybalt , here flain , whom Romeo's hand did flay ...
Unhappy fight ! alas , the blood is fpill'd Of my dear kinfman- -Prince , as thou art true , For blood of ours , fhed blood of Montague . Prin . Benvolio , who began this fray ? Ben . Tybalt , here flain , whom Romeo's hand did flay ...
Què en diuen els usuaris - Escriviu una ressenya
No hem trobat cap ressenya als llocs habituals.
Altres edicions - Mostra-ho tot
The Works of Shakespeare: In Eight Volumes. Collated with the Oldest Copies ... William Shakespeare Visualització completa - 1740 |
The Works of Shakespeare: In Eight Volumes ; Collated with the ..., Volum 8 William Shakespeare Visualització completa - 1740 |
Frases i termes més freqüents
bear blood bring Caffio Capulet changes Clown comes daughter dead dear death doft doth Duke Emil Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair fall fame Farewel father fear feem fhall fhew fhould follow fome foul fpeak ftand fuch fweet give gone Hamlet hand hath head hear heart heav'n hold I'll Iago Juliet keep King lady Laer Laertes leave letter light live look Lord marry matter means moft Moor moſt mother muft murder nature never night noble Nurfe Othello play poor pray Prince Printed Quarto Queen Romeo SCENE ſpeak tell thee thefe there's theſe thing thou thou art thought true Tybalt villain watch whofe wife young
Passatges populars
Pàgina 32 - What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O! be some other name: What's in a name?
Pàgina 190 - 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 251 - That I did love the Moor to live with him, My downright violence and storm of fortunes May trumpet to the world ; my heart's subdued Even to the very quality of my lord : I saw Othello's visage in his mind ; And to his honours, and his valiant parts, Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate.
Pàgina 210 - I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come ; make her laugh at that. Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing. Hor. What's that, my lord? Ham. Dost thou think Alexander looked o' this fashion i
Pàgina 114 - ... uncle, My father's brother, but no more like my father Than I to Hercules: within a month, Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears Had left the flushing in her galled eyes, She married.
Pàgina 175 - In the corrupted currents of this world Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice; And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself Buys out the law. But 'tis not...
Pàgina 160 - Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue : but if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines.
Pàgina 120 - Are most select and generous, chief in that. Neither a borrower nor a lender be; For loan oft loses both itself and friend, And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
Pàgina 66 - It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale ; look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east. Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops; I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
Pàgina 36 - Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone: And yet no further than a wanton's bird; Who lets it hop a little from her hand, Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, And with a silk thread plucks it back again, So loving-jealous of his liberty.
Informació bibliogràfica
| Títol | The Works of Shakespeare: In Eight Volumes : Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected, with Notes, Explanatory, and Critical, Volum 8 The Works of Shakespeare: In Eight Volumes : Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected, with Notes, Explanatory, and Critical, William Shakespeare |
| Autor | William Shakespeare |
| Editor | C. Hitch and L. Hawes, J. and R. Tonson, B. Dod, G. Woodfall, J. Rivington, R. Baldwin, T. Longman, S. Crowder and Company, W. Johnson, C. Corbet, T. Lownds, and T. Caslon, 1762 |
| Original de | Biblioteca Pública de Nova York |
| Digitalitzat el | 29 Des. 2006 |
| Exporta citacions | BiBTeX EndNote RefMan |