The plays of William Shakspeare, accurately pr. from the text of mr. Steevens's last ed., with a selection of the most important notes [collected by J. Nichols].
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Strana 533 - The times have been That, when the brains were out, the man would die, And there an end ; but now they rise again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our stools.
Strana 492 - Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
Strana 483 - Besides, this Duncan Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking-off...
Strana 498 - So brainsickly of things. Go get some water, And wash this filthy witness from your hand. Why did you bring these daggers from the place? They must lie there: go carry them, and smear The sleepy grooms with blood. MACB. I'll go no more: I am afraid to think what I have done; Look on't again I dare not.
Strana 230 - Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, Thy head, thy sovereign ; one that cares for thee, And for thy maintenance : commits his body To painful labour, both by sea and land ; To watch the night in storms, the day in cold, While thou liest warm at home, secure and safe; And craves no other tribute at thy hands, But love, fair looks, and true obedience, — Too little payment for so great a debt.
Strana 473 - For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires: The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.
Strana 470 - Implored your highness' pardon and set forth A deep repentance : nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it ; he died As one that had been studied in his death, To throw away the dearest thing he owed* As 'twere a careless trifle.
Strana 321 - This is an art Which does mend nature — change it rather; but The art itself is nature.
Strana 467 - This supernatural soliciting Cannot be ill : cannot be good. If ill, Why hath it given me earnest of success, Commencing in a truth? I am thane of Cawdor: If good, why do I yield to that suggestion...
Strana 476 - Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full Of direst cruelty...