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 11 - 15 de 82.
Pàgina 38
... tell thee , ere thou afk it me again ; I have been feafting with mine enemy ; Where , on a fudden , one hath wounded me , That's by me wounded ; both our remedies Within thy help and holy phyfick lies ; I bear no hatred , bleffed man ...
... tell thee , ere thou afk it me again ; I have been feafting with mine enemy ; Where , on a fudden , one hath wounded me , That's by me wounded ; both our remedies Within thy help and holy phyfick lies ; I bear no hatred , bleffed man ...
Pàgina 42
... den ? Mer . " Tis no lefs , I tell you ; for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the prick of noon . Nurse . Out upon you ! what a man are you ? Rom Rom . One , gentlewoman , that God hath made 42 ROMEO and · JULIET .
... den ? Mer . " Tis no lefs , I tell you ; for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the prick of noon . Nurse . Out upon you ! what a man are you ? Rom Rom . One , gentlewoman , that God hath made 42 ROMEO and · JULIET .
Pàgina 43
... tell me where I may find the young Romeo . Rom . I can tell you : but young Romeo will be older when you have found him , than he was when you fought him : I am the youngest of that name , for fault of a worfe . Nurfe . You fay well ...
... tell me where I may find the young Romeo . Rom . I can tell you : but young Romeo will be older when you have found him , than he was when you fought him : I am the youngest of that name , for fault of a worfe . Nurfe . You fay well ...
Pàgina 44
... tell her as much : Lord , Lord , fhe will be a joyful woman . Rom . What wilt thou tell her , nurfe ? thou doft not mark me . Nurfe . I will tell her , Sir , that you do protest ; which , as I take it , is a gentleman - like offer . Rom ...
... tell her as much : Lord , Lord , fhe will be a joyful woman . Rom . What wilt thou tell her , nurfe ? thou doft not mark me . Nurfe . I will tell her , Sir , that you do protest ; which , as I take it , is a gentleman - like offer . Rom ...
Pàgina 45
... tell her , that Paris is the properer man ; but I'll warrant you , when I fay fo , fhe looks , as pale as any clout in the varfal world . Doth not rosemary and R- meo begin both with a letter ? ( 8 ) . Rom . Ay , nurse , what of that ...
... tell her , that Paris is the properer man ; but I'll warrant you , when I fay fo , fhe looks , as pale as any clout in the varfal world . Doth not rosemary and R- meo begin both with a letter ? ( 8 ) . Rom . Ay , nurse , what of that ...
Altres edicions - Mostra-ho tot
The Works of Shakespeare: In Eight Volumes. Collated with the Oldest Copies ... William Shakespeare Visualització completa - 1740 |
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.