The Tragedy of King Richard the Third, Svazek 34

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Methuen, 1907 - Počet stran: 221
 

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Strana xiii - And therefore — since I cannot prove a lover, To entertain these fair well-spoken days — I am determined to prove a villain, And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Strana 168 - Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. What! do I fear myself? there's none else by Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I. Is there a murderer here? No. Yes; I am: Then fly: what! from myself? Great reason why; Lest I revenge. What! myself upon myself? Alack! I love myself. Wherefore? for any good That I myself have done unto myself? O! no: alas! I rather hate myself For hateful deeds committed by myself.
Strana 21 - With that grim ferryman which poets write of, Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger soul, Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick ; Who cried aloud, " What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence...
Strana xiii - Our bruised arms hung up for monuments; Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds, To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber, To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
Strana 168 - My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain. Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree; Murder, stern murder in the dir'st degree; All several sins, all us'd in each degree, Throng to the bar, crying all, 'Guilty, guilty!
Strana 169 - By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard, Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers, Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond.
Strana xxxi - 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...
Strana xiii - He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. 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...
Strana xiii - Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by. this sun of York ; And all the clouds, that lowered upon our house, In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.

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