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 65.
Pàgina 11
I , measuring his affections by my own , ( That most are bufied when they're most alone , ) Purfued my humour , not pursuing him ; And gladly fhun'd , who gladly fled from me . Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen With tears ...
I , measuring his affections by my own , ( That most are bufied when they're most alone , ) Purfued my humour , not pursuing him ; And gladly fhun'd , who gladly fled from me . Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen With tears ...
Pàgina 13
... What is it elfe ? a madness most discreet , A choaking gall , and a preferving sweet : Farewel , my coufin ; Ben . Soft , I'll go along . " And if you leave me fo , you do me wrong , Rom . Tut , I have loft myfelf , I am not here ...
... What is it elfe ? a madness most discreet , A choaking gall , and a preferving sweet : Farewel , my coufin ; Ben . Soft , I'll go along . " And if you leave me fo , you do me wrong , Rom . Tut , I have loft myfelf , I am not here ...
Pàgina 15
... buds fhall you this night Inherit at my houfe ; hear all , all fee , And like her most , whose merit most shall be : Which on more view of many , mine , being one , May stand in number , tho ' in reck'ning none . Come , go with me .
... buds fhall you this night Inherit at my houfe ; hear all , all fee , And like her most , whose merit most shall be : Which on more view of many , mine , being one , May stand in number , tho ' in reck'ning none . Come , go with me .
Pàgina 41
A most courteous expofition . Mer . Nay , I am the very pink of courtesy . Rom . Pink for flower . Mer . Right . Rom . Why , then is my pump well flower'd . Mer . Sure wit - follow me this jeft , now , till thou haft worn out thy pump ...
A most courteous expofition . Mer . Nay , I am the very pink of courtesy . Rom . Pink for flower . Mer . Right . Rom . Why , then is my pump well flower'd . Mer . Sure wit - follow me this jeft , now , till thou haft worn out thy pump ...
Pàgina 72
Nurfe . Marry , I will ; and this is wifely done . [ Exit . ful . Ancient damnation ! O most wicked fiend ! Is it more fin to wifh me thus forfworn , Or , Or to dispraise my Lord with that fame tongue Which 72 ROMEO and JULIET .
Nurfe . Marry , I will ; and this is wifely done . [ Exit . ful . Ancient damnation ! O most wicked fiend ! Is it more fin to wifh me thus forfworn , Or , Or to dispraise my Lord with that fame tongue Which 72 ROMEO and JULIET .
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.