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The Works of Mr. William Shakespear;: In Six Volumes. Adorn'd with Cuts, Volum 4
Visualització completa - 1709
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Pàgina 2297 - He only, in a general honest thought And common good to all, made one of them. His life was gentle, and the elements So mix'd in him that Nature might stand up And say to all the world, 'This was a man!
Pàgina 2435 - 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 2385 - I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young blood ; Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres; Thy knotted and combined locks to part, And each particular hair to stand on end, Like quills upon the fretful porcupine : But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood : — List, list, O list!
Pàgina 2272 - Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up To such a sudden flood of mutiny. They that have done this deed are honourable ; What private griefs they have, alas ! I know not, That made them do it ; they are wise and honourable ; And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you.
Pàgina 2117 - Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun.
Pàgina 2566 - I had a friend that lov'd her, I should but teach him how to tell my story, And that would woo her.
Pàgina 2331 - Come, seeling night, Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day; And with thy bloody and invisible hand Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond Which keeps me pale!
Pàgina 2436 - Excitements of my reason and my blood, And let all sleep, while to my shame I see, The imminent death of twenty thousand men, That, for a fantasy and trick of fame, Go to their graves like beds, fight for a plot Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause, Which is not tomb enough and continent To hide the slain? O, from this time forth, My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!