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 67.
Pàgina 16
... pray thee ? Rom . For your broken fhin . Ben . Why , Romeo , art thou mad ? 1 Rom . Not mad , but bound more than a ... pray , Sir , can you read ? Rom . Ay , mine own fortune in my mifery . Serv . Perhaps , you have learn'd it without ...
... pray thee ? Rom . For your broken fhin . Ben . Why , Romeo , art thou mad ? 1 Rom . Not mad , but bound more than a ... pray , Sir , can you read ? Rom . Ay , mine own fortune in my mifery . Serv . Perhaps , you have learn'd it without ...
Pàgina 17
... pray , come and crufh a cup of wine . Reft you merry . Ben . At this fame antient feaft of Capulet's Sups the fair Rofaline , whom thou so lov'ft ; With all the admired beauties of Verona . Go thither , and , with untainted eye ...
... pray , come and crufh a cup of wine . Reft you merry . Ben . At this fame antient feaft of Capulet's Sups the fair Rofaline , whom thou so lov'ft ; With all the admired beauties of Verona . Go thither , and , with untainted eye ...
Pàgina 19
... pray thee , hold thy peace . Nurfe . Yes Madam ; yet I cannot chufe but laugh , to think it fhould leave crying , and fay , ay ; and yet , I wariant , it had upon its brow a bump as big as a young cockrel's ftone : a perilous knock ...
... pray thee , hold thy peace . Nurfe . Yes Madam ; yet I cannot chufe but laugh , to think it fhould leave crying , and fay , ay ; and yet , I wariant , it had upon its brow a bump as big as a young cockrel's ftone : a perilous knock ...
Pàgina 24
... prayer or two , And fleeps again . This is that very Mab , That plats the manes of horfes in the night , And cakes the elf - locks in foul fluttish hairs , Which , once untangled , much misfortune bodes . This is the hag , when maids ...
... prayer or two , And fleeps again . This is that very Mab , That plats the manes of horfes in the night , And cakes the elf - locks in foul fluttish hairs , Which , once untangled , much misfortune bodes . This is the hag , when maids ...
Pàgina 28
... prayer . Rom . O then , dear faint , let lips do what hands do : They pray , ( grant thou ) left faith turn to defpair . Jul . Saints do not move , yet grant for prayers ' fake . Rom . Then move not , while my prayers ' effect I take ...
... prayer . Rom . O then , dear faint , let lips do what hands do : They pray , ( grant thou ) left faith turn to defpair . Jul . Saints do not move , yet grant for prayers ' fake . Rom . Then move not , while my prayers ' effect I take ...
Altres edicions - Mostra-ho tot
The Works of Shakespeare: Collated with the Oldest Copies, and ..., Volum 8 William Shakespeare Visualització completa - 1773 |
The Works of Shakespeare: In Eight Volumes ; Collated with the ..., Volum 8 William Shakespeare Visualització completa - 1740 |
Frases i termes més freqüents
againſt Benvolio Brabantio Caffio Capulet Clown Cyprus dead dear death Defdemona Denmark doft thou doth Duke Emil Enter ev'n Exeunt Exit eyes faid fair Farewel father feems feen fenfe fhall fhew fhould firft flain fleep fome Fortinbras foul fpeak Friar Lawrence ftand ftill fuch fure fweet fword gentlemen give Hamlet hath hear heart heav'n himſelf honeft Horatio houfe huſband Iago is't itſelf Juliet King lady Laer Laertes lago look Lord Madam Mantua marry Mercutio moft Moor moſt muft murder muſt myſelf night Nurfe Nurſe Ophelia Othello Perfon poifon Polonius pray Quarto Queen reafon reft Rodorigo Romeo SCENE ſhall ſhe ſpeak tell thee thefe there's theſe thing thofe thou art to-night Tybalt uſe villain whofe wife William Shakespeare yourſelf
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.