The Plays of William Shakespeare : Accurately Printed from the Text of the Corrected Copy Left by the Late George Steevens: With a Series of Engravings, from Original Designs of Henry Fuseli, and a Selection of Explanatory and Historical Notes, from the Most Eminent Commentators; a History of the Stage, a Life of Shakespeare, &c. by Alexander Chalmers, Volum 7
F.C. and J. Rivington, 1805
Altres edicions - Mostra-ho tot
The Plays of William Shakespeare : Accurately Printed from the Text ..., Volum 7
Visualitzaciˇ completa - 1805
The Plays of William Shakespeare: Accurately Printed from the Text of the ...
Visualitzaciˇ completa - 1856
Achilles Agam Ajax Anne arms bear better blood bring brother Buck Buckingham cardinal Catesby cause Clarence comes Cres Cressida dead dear death doth duke Edward Eliz Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair fall father fear fight follows fool friends Gent gentle give Gloster grace Greeks hand Hast hath head hear heart heaven Hect Hector Helen Henry highness hold honour hope hour I'll JOHNSON keep king king's lady leave live look lord madam matter means mind mother Murd never night noble once peace play poor pray prince queen reason Rich Richard Richmond royal SCENE soul speak stand sweet tell tent thank thee Ther thing thou thought Troilus Trojan Troy true truth Ulyss York young
PÓgina 4 - I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable, That dogs bark at me as I halt by them ; — Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun, And descant on mine own deformity : And therefore — since I cannot prove a lover, To entertain these fair well-spoken days...
PÓgina 33 - All scatter'd 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 woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.
PÓgina 224 - 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...
PÓgina 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 ! Brak.
PÓgina 231 - An old man, broken with the storms of state, Is come to lay his weary bones among ye ; Give him a little earth for charity...
PÓgina 34 - With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise, I trembling wak'd, and, for a season after, Could not believe but that I was in hell, — Such terrible impression made my dream.
PÓgina 341 - I do not strain at the position, — It is familiar, — but at the author's drift : Who, in his circumstance, expressly proves, That no man is the lord of any thing, (Though in and of him there be much consisting, ) Till he communicate his parts to others...
PÓgina 4 - But I— that am not shap'd for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass— I— that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph— I— that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them...
PÓgina 223 - 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.
PÓgina 220 - 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 honours 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.