The plays of William Shakspeare, with the corrections and illustr. of various commentators, to which are added notes by S. Johnson and G. Steevens, revised and augmented by I. Reed, with a glossarial index, 16 tomas

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1809
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417 psl. - tis a lost fear; Man but a rush against Othello's breast, And he retires; — Where should Othello go? — Now, how dost thou look now ? O ill-starr'd wench ! Pale as thy smock ! when we shall meet at compt, This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven, And fiends will snatch at it.
327 psl. - I will in Cassio's lodging lose this napkin, And let him find it. Trifles, light as air, Are to the jealous confirmations strong As proofs of Holy Writ.
419 psl. - I pray you, in your letters, When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, Speak of me as I am ; nothing extenuate, Nor set down aught in malice: then must you speak Of one that loved not wisely but too well...
202 psl. - In following him, I follow but myself ; Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, But seeming so, for my peculiar end...
233 psl. - These things to hear, Would Desdemona seriously incline : But still the house affairs would draw her thence ; Which ever as she could with haste despatch, She 'd come again, and with a greedy ear Devour up my discourse : — which I observing, Took once a pliant hour ; and found good means To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart, That I would all my pilgrimage dilate...
318 psl. - Tis not to make me jealous, To say — my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company, Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well; Where virtue is, these are more virtuous: Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw The smallest fear, or doubt of her revolt; For she had eyes, and chose me...
293 psl. - God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains!
229 psl. - Their dearest action in the tented field, And little of this great world can I speak, More than pertains to feats of broil and battle, And therefore little shall I grace my cause In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience...
418 psl. - Demand me nothing: What you know, you know: From this time forth I never will speak word.
235 psl. - twas wondrous pitiful: She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'd That heaven had made her such a man...

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