Works: Tempest. Two gentlemen of Verona. Merry wives of Windsor. Measure for measure. Comedy of errors. Much ado about nothing. Love's labour's lost. A midsummer-night's dream. The merchant of Venice. As you like it. Taming of the shrew. All's well that ends well. Twelfth night, or What you will. Winter's tale. King JohnG. Routledge, 1889 |
Vyhledávání v knize
Výsledky 1-5 z 70
Strana 3
... hand , And pluck my magic garment from me . - So ; [ Lays down his mantle . Lie there my art . - Wipe thou thine eyes ; have comfort . The direful spectacle of the wrack , which touch'd The very virtue of compassion in thee , I have ...
... hand , And pluck my magic garment from me . - So ; [ Lays down his mantle . Lie there my art . - Wipe thou thine eyes ; have comfort . The direful spectacle of the wrack , which touch'd The very virtue of compassion in thee , I have ...
Strana 21
... hand , do you the like , To fall it on Gonzalo . Seb . Draw together : [ They converse apart . O , but one word . Music . Re - enter ARIEL , invisible . Ari . My master through his art foresees the danger That you , his friend , are in ...
... hand , do you the like , To fall it on Gonzalo . Seb . Draw together : [ They converse apart . O , but one word . Music . Re - enter ARIEL , invisible . Ari . My master through his art foresees the danger That you , his friend , are in ...
Strana 29
... hand , I ' ll turn my mercy out of doors , and make a stockfish of thee . Trin . Why , what did I ? I did nothing ; I'll go further off . Didst thou not say he lied ? Ste . Ari . Thou liest . Ste . Do I so ? take thou that . [ Strikes ...
... hand , I ' ll turn my mercy out of doors , and make a stockfish of thee . Trin . Why , what did I ? I did nothing ; I'll go further off . Didst thou not say he lied ? Ste . Ari . Thou liest . Ste . Do I so ? take thou that . [ Strikes ...
Strana 38
... hand : I do begin to have bloody thoughts . Trin . O king Stephano ! O peer ! O worthy Stephano ! look , what a wardrobe here is for thee ! Cal . Let it alone , thou fool ; it is but trash . Trin . O , ho , monster ; we know what ...
... hand : I do begin to have bloody thoughts . Trin . O king Stephano ! O peer ! O worthy Stephano ! look , what a wardrobe here is for thee ! Cal . Let it alone , thou fool ; it is but trash . Trin . O , ho , monster ; we know what ...
Strana 108
... hand . Host . Tell him , cavalero - justice ; tell him , bully - rook . Shal . Sir , there is a fray to be fought , between sir Hugh the Welch priest , and Caius the French doctor . Ford . Good mine host o ' the Garter , a word with you ...
... hand . Host . Tell him , cavalero - justice ; tell him , bully - rook . Shal . Sir , there is a fray to be fought , between sir Hugh the Welch priest , and Caius the French doctor . Ford . Good mine host o ' the Garter , a word with you ...
Běžně se vyskytující výrazy a sousloví
Angelo art thou Bast Beat Benedick better Biron blood Boyet brother Caius Claud Claudio COSTARD daughter dear death dost thou doth ducats Duke Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair faith father Faulconbridge fear fool Ford gentle gentleman give grace Gremio hand hath hear heart heaven Hermia hither honour husband Illyria Isab John Kath King knave lady Laun Leon Leonato look lord Lucio Lysander madam maid Malvolio marry master master doctor mistress Moth never night pardon Pedro Pompey pray prince prithee Proteus Puck Re-enter Rosalind SCENE servant Shylock signior Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK soul speak Speed swear sweet tell thank thee there's Theseus thine thou art thou hast thou shalt Thurio tongue Tranio troth true unto villain What's wife woman word
Oblíbené pasáže
Strana 793 - O, let us pay the time but needful woe, Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs. — This England never did, (nor never shall,) Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, But when it first did help to wound itself. Now these her princes are come home again, Come the three corners of the world in arms, And we shall shock them : Nought shall make us rue, If England to itself do rest but true.
Strana 464 - Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp ? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court ? Here feel we not the penalty of Adam. The seasons' difference, — as the icy fang And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, Which, when it bites and blows upon my body. Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say 'This is no flattery' — these are counsellors That feelingly persuade me what I am.