Works: Tempest. Two gentlemen of Verona. Merry wives of Windsor. Measure for measure. Comedy of errors. Much ado about nothing. Love's labour's lost. A midsummer-night's dream. The merchant of Venice. As you like it. Taming of the shrew. All's well that ends well. Twelfth night, or What you will. Winter's tale. King JohnG. Routledge, 1889 |
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Página 13
... fear you have done yourself some wrong : a word . Mira . Why speaks my father so ungently ? This Is the third man that e'er I saw ; the first That e'er I sigh'd for : pity move my father To be inclin'd my way ! Fer . O , if a virgin ...
... fear you have done yourself some wrong : a word . Mira . Why speaks my father so ungently ? This Is the third man that e'er I saw ; the first That e'er I sigh'd for : pity move my father To be inclin'd my way ! Fer . O , if a virgin ...
Página 17
... fear , for ever : Milan and Naples have More widows in them of this business ' making , Than we bring men to comfort them : the fault's Your own . Alon . Gon . So is the dearest of the loss . My lord Sebastian , The truth you speak doth ...
... fear , for ever : Milan and Naples have More widows in them of this business ' making , Than we bring men to comfort them : the fault's Your own . Alon . Gon . So is the dearest of the loss . My lord Sebastian , The truth you speak doth ...
Página 19
... fear , or sloth . Seb . Prithee say on : The setting of thine eye , and cheek , proclaim A matter from thee ; and a birth , indeed , Which throes thee much to yield . Ant . Thus , sir : Although this lord of weak remembrance , this ...
... fear , or sloth . Seb . Prithee say on : The setting of thine eye , and cheek , proclaim A matter from thee ; and a birth , indeed , Which throes thee much to yield . Ant . Thus , sir : Although this lord of weak remembrance , this ...
Página 24
... fear of the storm : And art thou living , Stephano ? O Stephano , two Neapolitans ' scaped ! Ste . Prithee , do not turn me about ; my stomach is not constant . Cal . These be fine things , an if they be not sprites . That's a brave god ...
... fear of the storm : And art thou living , Stephano ? O Stephano , two Neapolitans ' scaped ! Ste . Prithee , do not turn me about ; my stomach is not constant . Cal . These be fine things , an if they be not sprites . That's a brave god ...
Página 46
... fear me , will never out of my bones : I shall not fear fly - blowing . Seb . Why , how now , Stephano ? Ste . O , touch me not ; I am not Stephano , but a cramp . Pro . You'd be king of the isle , sirrah ? Ste . I should have been a ...
... fear me , will never out of my bones : I shall not fear fly - blowing . Seb . Why , how now , Stephano ? Ste . O , touch me not ; I am not Stephano , but a cramp . Pro . You'd be king of the isle , sirrah ? Ste . I should have been a ...
Palavras e frases frequentes
Angelo art thou Bast Beat Benedick better Biron blood Boyet brother Caius Claud Claudio COSTARD daughter dear death dost thou doth ducats Duke Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair faith father Faulconbridge fear fool Ford gentle gentleman give grace Gremio hand hath hear heart heaven Hermia hither honour husband Illyria Isab John Kath King knave lady Laun Leon Leonato look lord Lucio Lysander madam maid Malvolio marry master master doctor mistress Moth never night pardon Pedro Pompey pray prince prithee Proteus Puck Re-enter Rosalind SCENE servant Shylock signior Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK soul speak Speed swear sweet tell thank thee there's Theseus thine thou art thou hast thou shalt Thurio tongue Tranio troth true unto villain What's wife woman word
Passagens conhecidas
Página 793 - O, let us pay the time but needful woe, Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs. — This England never did, (nor never shall,) Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, But when it first did help to wound itself. Now these her princes are come home again, Come the three corners of the world in arms, And we shall shock them : Nought shall make us rue, If England to itself do rest but true.
Página 464 - Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp ? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court ? Here feel we not the penalty of Adam. The seasons' difference, — as the icy fang And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, Which, when it bites and blows upon my body. Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say 'This is no flattery' — these are counsellors That feelingly persuade me what I am.