The Works of William Shakespeare: King Henry VIII. Troilus and Cressida. Coriolanus. Titus Andronicus

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Strana 74 - 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.
Strana 74 - 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 112 - Her own shall bless her: Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, And hang their heads with sorrow. Good grows with her; In her days every man shall eat in safety Under his own vine what he plants, and sing The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours.
Strana 69 - Nay then, farewell! I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness : And, from that full meridian of my glory, I haste now to my setting. I shall fall Like a bright exhalation in the evening, And no man see me more.
Strana 144 - Force should be right; or rather, right and wrong, Between whose endless jar justice resides, Should lose their names, and so should justice too. Then...
Strana 193 - Keeps honour bright; to have done is to hang Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail In monumental mockery. Take the instant way; For honour travels in a strait so narrow, Where one but goes abreast. Keep then the path; For Emulation hath a thousand sons That one by one pursue.
Strana 76 - O, my lord, Must I then leave you ? Must I needs forego So good, so noble, and so true a master ? Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron, With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord ; The king shall have my service, but my prayers For ever and for ever shall be yours.
Strana 143 - Take but degree away, untune that string, And, hark, what discord follows ! each thing meets In mere oppugnancy : the bounded waters Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores, And make a sop of all this solid globe : Strength should be lord of imbecility...
Strana 194 - That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand; And with his arms outstretch'd, as he would fly, Grasps in the comer: welcome ever smiles, And farewell goes out sighing. 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 54 - Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing, die.

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