Què en diuen els usuaris - Escriviu una ressenya
No hem trobat cap ressenya als llocs habituals.
Altres edicions - Mostra-ho tot
The Dramatic Works of William Shakspeare: Richard III. Henry VIII. Troilus ...
William Shakespeare,Oliver William Bourn Peabody,Samuel Weller Singer
Previsualització no disponible - 2015
The Dramatic Works of William Shakespeare: 1847. Richard III. Henry VIII ...
John Payne Collier,Samuel Weller Singer,Charles Symmons
Previsualització no disponible - 2015
Achilles Ajax Anne answer Apem appears arms bear better blood bring brother Buck Buckingham cardinal cause comes Coriolanus Cres death doth duke Edward Eliz Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair fall fear follow fool fortune friends Gent give gods grace hand hast hath head hear heart Heaven Hector hold Holinshed honor I'll keep king lady leave live look lord Marcius master means mother nature never noble once peace person play poor pray present prince queen Rich Richard Rome SCENE Senators Serv Servant Shakspeare soul speak stand sweet sword tell thank thee Ther thing thou thought Timon Troilus Troy true truth Ulyss voices worthy
Pàgina 33 - A thousand men, that fishes gnawed upon ; Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, All scattered in the bottom of the sea. Some lay in dead men's skulls ; and in those holes Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept (As 'twere in scorn of eyes) reflecting gems, That wooed the slimy bottom of the deep, And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by.
Pàgina 201 - Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! This is the state of man ; to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honors thick upon him ; The third day, comes a frost, a killing frost ; And — when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do.
Pàgina 183 - em, if thou canst : leave working. Song. Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain-tops that freeze, Bow themselves, when he did sing : To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung; as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring. Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing, die.
Pàgina 203 - O my lord ! Must I then leave you ? Must I needs forego So good, so noble, and so true a master ? Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron, With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord. — •' The king shall have my service ; but my prayers, For ever and for ever, shall be yours.
Pàgina 122 - My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain. Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree; Murder, stern murder in the dir'st degree; All several sins, all us'd in each degree, Throng to the bar, crying all, 'Guilty, guilty!
Pàgina 204 - Love thyself last ; cherish those hearts that hate thee ; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not : Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's : then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr.
Pàgina 32 - I have pass'da miserable night, So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights, That, as I am a Christian faithful man, I would not spend another such a night, Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days : So full of dismal terror was the time.
Pàgina 122 - Alack, I love myself. Wherefore? For any good That I myself have done unto myself? O, no, alas! I rather hate myself For hateful deeds committed by myself. I am a villain. Yet I lie; I am not. Fool, of thyself speak well. Fool, do not flatter. My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain.
Pàgina 34 - Who pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood, With that grim ferryman which poets write of, Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger soul, Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick; Who cried aloud, ' What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence...