The plays of Shakespeare, from the text of S. Johnson, with the prefaces, notes &c. of Rowe, Pope and many other critics. 6 vols. [in 12 pt. Followed by] Shakespeare's poems, Svazek 6
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Strana 529 - There is a history in all men's lives, Figuring the nature of the times deceased ; The which observed, a man may prophesy, With a near aim, of the main chance of things As yet not come to life, which in their seeds And weak beginnings lie intreasured. Such things become the hatch and brood of time...
Strana 302 - O, who can hold a fire in his hand, By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite, By bare imagination of a feast?
Strana 418 - Should I turn upon the true prince ? Why, thou knowest, I am as valiant as Hercules: but beware instinct; the lion will not touch the true prince. Instinct is a great matter ; I was a coward on instinct.
Strana 390 - He was perfumed like a milliner, And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held A pouncet-box, which ever and anon He gave his nose and took't away again; Who therewith angry, when it next came there, Took it in snuff...
Strana 527 - With deaf'ning clamours in the slippery clouds, That, with the hurly, death itself awakes ? Canst thou, O partial sleep! give thy repose To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude; And, in the calmest and most stillest night, With all appliances and means to boot, Deny it to a king ? Then, happy low, lie down ! Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
Strana 306 - This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, Dear for her reputation through the world, Is now leas'd out, I die pronouncing it, Like to a tenement or pelting farm...
Strana 390 - But, I remember, when the fight was done, When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil, Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly...
Strana 462 - tis no matter ; Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if Honour prick me off when I come on ? how then ? Can Honour set to a leg ? No. Or an arm ? No. Or take away the grief of a wound ? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery then ? No. What is Honour ? A word. What is that word, Honour ? Air. A trim reckoning! — Who hath it? He that died o
Strana 329 - 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...
Strana 305 - York Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath; For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. Gaunt O but they say the tongues of dying men Enforce attention like deep harmony: Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain. For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain.