Opinião das pessoas - Escrever uma crítica
Não foram encontradas quaisquer críticas nos locais habituais.
Outras edições - Ver tudo
againſt ancient Anne appears arms bear believe better blood brother Buck Buckingham called cardinal common Coriolanus death duke Edward enemies Enter Exeunt eyes fair fall fame fear feems fenfe fhall fhould fight fome foul fpeak friends fuch give grace Haftings hand hath head hear heart heaven Henry honour hope hour JOHNSON king king's lady leave lines live look lord madam MALONE Marcius mean mind moft mother muft muſt nature never noble once paffage peace perfon play poor pray prince Queen Rich Richard Rome SCENE Shakspeare ſhall ſpeak STEEVENS tell thank thee thefe theſe thing thofe thou thought tongue true ufed unto voices WARBURTON wife York
Página 238 - tis better to be lowly born, And range with humble livers in content, Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief, And wear a golden sorrow.
Página 42 - 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.
Página 499 - I'll speak a little. [He holds her by the hand, silent] CORIOLANUS. O mother, mother! What have you done? Behold, the heavens do ope, The gods look down, and this unnatural scene They laugh at. O my mother, mother! O! You have won a happy victory to Rome; But for your son— believe it, O, believe it!— Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd, If not most mortal to him.
Página 348 - Who deserves greatness Deserves your hate ; and your affections are A sick man's appetite, who desires most that Which would increase his evil. He that depends Upon your favours swims with fins of lead, And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye ! Trust ye? With every minute you do change a mind, And call him noble that was now your hate, Him vile that was your garland.
Página 283 - A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it. Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me. Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition: By that sin fell the angels ; how can man, then, The image of his Maker, hope to win by it ? Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee; Corruption wins not more than honesty.
Página 21 - Was ever woman in this humour woo'd ? Was ever woman in this humour won ? I'll have her, but I will not keep her long. What ! I, that kill'd her husband and his father, To take her in her heart's extremest hate ; With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, The bleeding witness of her hatred by ; Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me, And I no friends to back my suit withal, But the plain devil, and dissembling looks...
Página 280 - This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under me, and now has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream that must for ever hide me.
Página 284 - 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...
Página 6 - 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...
Página 280 - Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours ! There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or women have ; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again.