The plays of Shakspere, carefully revised [by J.O.] with a selection of engr. on wood from designs by K. Meadows, Díl 167,Svazek 2 |
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Alarum Antony arms art thou bear blood brother Brutus Cæs Cæsar Casca Cassio Cleo Coriolanus crown daughter dead dear death Desdemona doth Duch Duke Duke of York Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair farewell father fear fool France friends Gent gentle give Gloster grace grief hand hath head hear heart heaven Henry hither honour Iago John Kent King kiss lady Lear live look lord lord of Westmorland madam majesty Marcius master ne'er never night noble Northumberland OTHELLO pardon peace Pericles Poins Pompey poor pr'y thee pray prince queen Rich Rome Romeo SCENE shame shew soldiers Somerset sorrow soul speak stand Suffolk sweet sword tears tell thine thou art thou hast thou shalt tongue traitor Tybalt unto villain Warwick weep wife wilt word York
Oblíbené pasáže
Strana 1290 - 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...
Strana 1039 - Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains In cradle of the rude imperious surge, And in the visitation of the winds, Who take the ruffian billows by the top, Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them With deaf 'ning clamour in the slippery clouds, That, with the hurly, death itself awakes?
Strana 769 - Never, lago. Like to the Pontic sea, Whose icy current and compulsive course Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on To the Propontic and the Hellespont ; Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace, Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love. Till that a capable and wide revenge Swallow them up. — Now, by yond marble heaven, In the due reverence of a sacred vow {Kneels, I here engage my words.
Strana 880 - The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burn'd on the water ; the poop was beaten gold, Purple the sails, and so perfumed that The winds were love-sick with them, the oars were silver, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water which they beat to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes.
Strana 707 - This is the excellent foppery of the world, that when we are sick in fortune — often the surfeit of our own behaviour — we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon and the stars : as if we were villains by necessity, fools by heavenly compulsion ; knaves, thieves and treachers, by spherical predominance ; drunkards, liars and adulterers, by an enforced obedience of planetary influence ; and all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on...
Strana 1074 - That those, whom you call'd fathers, did beget you! Be copy now to men of grosser blood, And teach them how to war! — And you, good yeomen, Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture; let us swear That you are worth your breeding : which I doubt not; For there is none of you so mean and base, That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game's afoot; Follow your spirit: and, upon this charge,...
Strana 776 - Where either I must live or bear no life ; The fountain from the which my current runs, Or else dries up : to be discarded thence ! Or keep it as a cistern, for foul toads To knot and gender in ! — turn thy complexion there, Patience, thou young and rose-lipped cherubin : Ay, there, look grim as hell ! Des.
Strana 852 - Brutus' love to Caesar was no less than his. If then that friend demand why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my answer : — Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more. Had you rather Caesar were living and die all slaves, than that Caesar were dead, to live all...
Strana 854 - Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read it; It is not meet you know how Caesar loved you. You are not wood, you are not stones, but men; And, being men, hearing the will of Caesar, It will inflame you, it will make you mad: 'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs; For, if you should, O, what would come of it!
Strana 854 - I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood: I only speak right on; I tell you that which you yourselves do know; Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor poor dumb mouths, And bid them speak for me: but were I Brutus, And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony Would ruffle up your spirits and put a tongue In every wound of Caesar that should move The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.