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answer appears arms Attendants bear better blood bring brother cause comes copies crown daughter dead death doth duke Edward English Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair fall father fear folio follow fool fortune France French friends gentle give grace hand hast hath head hear heart heaven Henry highness hold honour hope hour I'll keep king lady leave live look lord madam marry master means mind nature never night noble Old text once peace play poor pray present prince queen rest Rich Richard SCENE serve soldiers soul speak stand stay sweet tell thank thee thing thou thou art thought true unto Warwick wife York young
Strana 679 - His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root, And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured, 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 680 - 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 679 - O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours ! There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or women have; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again.
Strana 769 - But nature makes that mean: so, o'er that art, Which you say adds to nature, is an art That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock, And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of nobler race: this is an art Which does mend nature, — change it rather; but The art itself is nature.
Strana 145 - Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lin'd, With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side; His youthful hose, well...
Strana 69 - Where some, like magistrates, correct at home, Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad, Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds, Which pillage they with merry march bring home To the tent-royal of their emperor; Who, busied in his majesty, surveys The singing masons building roofs of gold, The civil citizens kneading up the honey, The poor mechanic porters crowding in Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate, The sad-eyed justice, with his surly hum,...
Strana 63 - On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth So great an object: can this cockpit hold The vasty fields of France? or may we cram Within this wooden O the very casques That did affright the air at Agincourt?
Strana 494 - I'll example you with thievery: The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction Robs the vast sea: the moon's an arrant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun: The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves The moon into salt tears: the earth's a thief, That feeds and breeds by a composture stolen From general excrement: each thing's a thief; The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power Have uncheck'd theft.
Strana 749 - Fear no more the frown o' the great, Thou art past the tyrant's stroke: Care no more to clothe and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak: The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust.
Strana 82 - Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead ! In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man, As modest stillness, and humility : But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger...