The Plays and Poems of William Shakspeare: With the Corrections and Illustrations of Various Commentators, Volum 9

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F. C. and J. Rivington, 1821

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PÓgina 486 - tis a lost fear; Man but a rush against Othello's breast, And he retires; — Where should Othello go? — Now, how dost thou look now ? O ill-starr'd wench ! Pale as thy smock ! when we shall meet at compt, This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven, And fiends will snatch at it.
PÓgina 265 - My story being done, She gave me for my pains a world of sighs...
PÓgina 64 - O, it is excellent To have a giant's strength ; but it is tyrannous To use it like a giant.
PÓgina 202 - I'll lend you all my life to do you service. Duke. Against all sense you do importune her: Should she kneel down in mercy of this fact, Her brother's ghost his paved bed would break, And take her hence in horror.
PÓgina 61 - tis too late. Lucio. You are too cold. [To Isabella. Isab. Too late? why, no; I, that do speak a word, May call it back again: Well believe this, No ceremony that to great ones 'longs, Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword, The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe, Become them with one half so good a grace, As mercy does.
PÓgina 260 - And, till she come, as truly as to heaven I do confess the vices of my blood, So justly to your grave ears I'll present How I did thrive in this fair lady's love, And she in mine.
PÓgina 378 - Look, where he comes ! Not poppy, nor mandragora, Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep Which thou ow'dst yesterday.
PÓgina 104 - And the poor beetle that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies.
PÓgina 462 - It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul, — Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars ! — It is the cause.
PÓgina 475 - Ay, with Cassio. Nay had she been true, If heaven would make me such another world Of one entire and perfect chrysolite, I'd not have sold her for it.

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