Shakespere's Works, Svazek 7

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Strana 107 - Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York ; And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Strana 307 - O, father abbot, An old man, broken with the storms of state, Is come to lay his weary bones among ye ; Give him a little earth for charity...
Strana 297 - 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 134 - With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears Such hideous cries, that with the very noise I trembling wak'd ; and for a season after Could not believe but that I was in hell : Such terrible impression made my dream.
Strana 57 - I'll play the orator as well as Nestor, Deceive more slily than Ulysses could, And, like a Sinon, take another Troy. I can add colours to the chameleon, Change shapes with Proteus for advantages, And set the murderous...
Strana 297 - Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! This is the state of man ; to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him : The third day comes a frost, a killing frost ; And,— when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do.
Strana 293 - The letter, as I live, with all the business I writ to's holiness. 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 298 - I am fall'n indeed. Crom. How does your grace? Wol. Why, well; Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. I know myself now ; and I feel within me A peace above all earthly dignities, A still and quiet conscience.
Strana 220 - What! do I fear myself ? there's none else by: Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I. Is there a murderer here ? No. Yes, I am : Then fly : what! from myself ? Great reason why : Lest I revenge. What! myself upon myself ? Alack ! I love myself. Wherefore ? for any good That I myself have done unto myself ? 0 ! no : alas ! I rather hate myself For hateful deeds committed by myself.
Strana 40 - So many years ere I shall shear the fleece : So minutes, hours, days, months, and years, Pass'd over to the end they were created, Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. Ah! what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely! Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade To shepherds looking on their silly sheep, Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy To kings, that fear their subjects

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