Shakespeare's Stories

Capa
Longman's, 1913 - 346 páginas
 

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Índice

I
II
30
III
74
IV
117
V
154
VI
205
VII
233
VIII
259
IX
295

Palavras e frases frequentes

Passagens conhecidas

Página 310 - I have heard of your paintings too, well enough; God hath given you one face, and you make yourselves another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and nickname God's creatures, and make your wantonness your ignorance.
Página 239 - I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows, Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine...
Página 335 - tis not to come ; if it be not to come, it will be now ; if it be not now, yet it will come : the readiness is all.
Página 54 - tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door ; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve : ask for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world. A plague o...
Página 46 - O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father, and refuse thy name; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet.
Página 120 - If you can look into the seeds of time, And say, which grain will grow, and which will not, Speak then to me, who neither beg, nor fear, Your favours, nor your hate.
Página 267 - Shylock, we would have moneys: you say so; You, that did void your rheum upon my beard, And foot me, as you spurn a stranger cur Over your threshold: moneys is your suit. What should I say to you? Should I not say, Hath a dog money? is it possible, A cur can lend three thousand ducats?
Página 47 - Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night : It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden ; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be, Ere one can say — It lightens.
Página 322 - Ecstasy! My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, And makes as healthful music. It is not madness That I have utter'd : bring me to the test, And I the matter will re-word, which madness Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, That not your trespass but my madness speaks; It will but skin and film the ulcerous place, Whiles rank corruption, mining all within, Infects unseen.
Página 95 - A blank, my lord. She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek : she pined in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief.

Informação bibliográfica