The Works of William Shakespeare: The third part of King Henry VI. King Richard III. King Henry VIII. Troilus & Cressida. Titus Andronicus

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Bernhard Tauchnitz, 1868
 

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Strana 264 - 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
Strana 267 - 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.
Strana 92 - Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York; And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Strana 314 - Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil, And posts, like the commandment of a king, Sans check to good and bad.
Strana 246 - Orpheus with his lute made trees , And the mountain-tops that freeze,, Bow themselves, when he did sing: To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung; as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring.
Strana 372 - Fie, fie upon her! There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip, Nay, her foot speaks ; her wanton spirits look out At every joint and motive of her body.
Strana 264 - 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.
Strana 33 - O God! methinks, it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run: How many make the hour full complete, How many hours bring about the day, How many days will finish up the year, How many years a mortal man may live. When this is known, then to divide the times: So many hours must I tend my flock; So many hours must I take my rest; So many hours must I contemplate; So many...
Strana 315 - Take but degree away, untune that string, And, hark ! what discord follows ; each thing meets In mere oppugnancy: the bounded waters Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores, And make a sop of all this solid globe : Strength should be lord of imbecility, And the rude son should strike his father dead: Force should be right; or rather, right and wrong, Between whose endless jar justice resides, Should lose their names, and so should justice too.
Strana 314 - But when the planets In evil mixture, to disorder wander, What plagues, and what portents ! what mutiny ! What raging of the sea ! shaking of earth ! Commotion in the winds ! frights, changes, horrors Divert and crack, rend and deracinate The unity and married calm of states Quite from their fixture...

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