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The plays of William Shakspeare, pr. from the text by G. Steevens ..., Volume 8
Visualização integral - 1826
Achilles Agam Agamemnon Ajax Alcib Alcibiades Anne Apem Apemantus Aufidius bear beseech blood brother Buck Buckingham Calchas cardinal Catesby Cham Clarence Cominius Coriolanus Cres Cressida curse death Diomed dost doth Duch duke Eliz Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair Farewell fear Flav fool friends Gent gentle give Gloster gods grace hate hath hear heart heaven Hect Hector honour i'the Johnson Kath king lady Lart live look lord Lord Chamberlain lord Hastings madam Malone Marcius means Menelaus Menenius mother Murd ne'er never noble o'the Pandarus Patroclus peace pr'ythee pray Priam prince queen Rich Richard Rome SCENE Senators Serv Servant Shakspeare soul speak sweet sword tell thee Ther there's Thersites thine thing thou art thou hast Timon tongue Troilus Troilus and Cressida Trojan Troy Ulyss unto word
Página 6 - 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...
Página 214 - 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.
Página 214 - Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, 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. Vain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate ye ; I feel my heart new open'd : O, how wretched Is that poor man, that hangs on princes...
Página 217 - 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.
Página 217 - Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries ; but thou hast forc'd me Out of thy honest truth to play the woman. Let's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me, Cromwell ; And, — when I am forgotten, as I shall be ; And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me more must be heard of, — say, I taught thee...
Página 215 - I am fallen indeed. CROM. How does your grace ? WOL. Why, well ; Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. I know myself now ; and I feel within me A peace above all earthly dignities, A still and quiet conscience.
Página 217 - And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me more must be heard of, — say, I taught thee, Say, Wolsey, — that once trod the ways of glory, And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour,— Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ; A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it.
Página 467 - I'll example you with thievery: The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction Robs the vast sea: the moon's an arrant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun...
Página 140 - I COME no more to make you laugh : things now, That bear a weighty and a serious brow, Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe, Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow, We now present.
Página 251 - That mould up such a mighty piece as this is, With all the virtues that attend the good, Shall still be doubled on her : truth shall nurse her ; Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her : She shall be lov'd, and fear'd : her own shall bless her: Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, And hang their heads with sorrow : good grows with her. In her days, every man shall eat in safety Under his own vine what he plants ; and sing The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours.