Characters of Shakespear's Plays

Přední strana obálky
C.H. Reynell, 1817 - Počet stran: 352

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Vybrané stránky

Obsah

I
v
II
xxiii
III
13
IV
31
V
40
VI
59
VII
67
VIII
81
XX
224
XXI
235
XXII
241
XXIII
253
XXIV
263
XXV
267
XXVI
276
XXVII
285

IX
93
X
101
XI
113
XII
124
XIV
133
XV
151
XVI
176
XVII
186
XVIII
201
XIX
213
XXVIII
291
XXIX
296
XXX
303
XXXI
310
XXXII
318
XXXIII
325
XXXV
329
XXXVI
333
XXXVII
344

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Oblíbené pasáže

Strana 172 - I'll kneel down, And ask of thee forgiveness. So we'll live, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues Talk of court news ; and we'll talk with them too, Who loses,- and who wins ; who's in, who's out ; And take...
Strana 220 - All murder'd: for within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king Keeps Death his court and there the antic sits, Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp, Allowing him a breath, a little scene, To monarchize, be fear'd and kill with looks...
Strana 349 - When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself, and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd, Desiring this man's art and that man's scope...
Strana 257 - A blank, my lord. She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i...
Strana 34 - Would he were fatter: — But I fear him not. Yet if my name were liable to fear, I do not know the man I should avoid So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much ; He is a great observer, and he looks Quite through the deeds of men...
Strana 185 - God save him ; No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home : But dust was thrown upon his sacred head ; Which, with such gentle sorrow he shook off, His face still combating with tears and smiles, The badges of his grief and patience, That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, And barbarism itself have pitied him.
Strana 149 - O my love ! my wife ! Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty : Thou art not conquer'd ; beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there.
Strana 85 - O, let not virtue seek Remuneration for the thing it was ; For beauty, wit, High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service, Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all To envious and calumniating time.
Strana 350 - That time of year thou may'st in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
Strana 154 - 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...

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