The Plays of William Shakspeare. ....T. Bensley, 1800 |
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7 psl.
... Char . Mars his true moving , even as in the heavens , So in the earth , to this day is not known : Late , did he shine upon the English fide ; Now we are victors , upon us he smiles . What towns of any moment , but we have ? At ...
... Char . Mars his true moving , even as in the heavens , So in the earth , to this day is not known : Late , did he shine upon the English fide ; Now we are victors , upon us he smiles . What towns of any moment , but we have ? At ...
8 psl.
... Char . Sound , found alarum ; we will rush on them . Now for the honour of the forlorn French : - Him I forgive my death , that killeth me , When he sees me go back one foot , or fly . [ Exeunt . Alarums ; Excurfions ; afterwards a ...
... Char . Sound , found alarum ; we will rush on them . Now for the honour of the forlorn French : - Him I forgive my death , that killeth me , When he sees me go back one foot , or fly . [ Exeunt . Alarums ; Excurfions ; afterwards a ...
9 psl.
... Char . Bastard of Orleans , thrice welcome to us . Baft . Methinks your looks are fad , your cheer ap- pall'd ; Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence ? Be not difinay'd , for fuccour is at hand : A holy maid hither with me I ...
... Char . Bastard of Orleans , thrice welcome to us . Baft . Methinks your looks are fad , your cheer ap- pall'd ; Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence ? Be not difinay'd , for fuccour is at hand : A holy maid hither with me I ...
10 psl.
... Char . Thou haft aftonish'd me with thy high terms ; Only this proof I'll of thy valour make , — In fingle combat thou shalt buckle with me ; And , if thou vanquisheft , thy words are true ; Otherwife , I renounce all confidence . Puc ...
... Char . Thou haft aftonish'd me with thy high terms ; Only this proof I'll of thy valour make , — In fingle combat thou shalt buckle with me ; And , if thou vanquisheft , thy words are true ; Otherwife , I renounce all confidence . Puc ...
11 psl.
... Char . Then come o'God's name , I fear no woman . Puc . And while I live , I'll ne'er fly from a man . [ They fight . Char . Stay , stay thy hands ; thou art an Amazon , And fightest with the sword of Deborah . Puc . Christ's mother ...
... Char . Then come o'God's name , I fear no woman . Puc . And while I live , I'll ne'er fly from a man . [ They fight . Char . Stay , stay thy hands ; thou art an Amazon , And fightest with the sword of Deborah . Puc . Christ's mother ...
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Afide againſt Alarum anſwer Baft Becauſe blood breaſt brother Buckingham Burgundy Cade cauſe Char Clar Clarence Clif Clifford crown death doth duke of Burgundy duke of York earl Edward England Engliſh Enter King HENRY Exeunt Exit father fear fhall fight firſt flain foes foldiers fome foul fovereign France ftand fuch fword Glofter grace hath heart heaven Henry's highneſs himſelf honour houſe Humphrey Jack Cade Lancaſter lord lord protector madam mafter majeſty Meffenger muft muſt myſelf ne'er noble peace Plantagenet pleaſe pleaſure preſently prifoner prince protector PUCELLE Queen MARGARET reaſon reft Reignier Richard RICHARD PLANTAGENET Saint Albans Saliſbury ſay SCENE ſee ſhall ſhame ſhe ſhould Somerſet ſpeak ſpirit ſtand ſtate ſtay ſtill ſuch Suffolk ſweet Talbot thee thefe theſe thine thoſe thou art thouſand traitor unto Warwick whofe Whoſe wilt Wincheſter yourſelf
Populiarios ištraukos
56 psl. - Content!' to that which grieves my heart, And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, And frame my face to all occasions.
38 psl. - So many hours must I tend my flock; So many hours must I take my rest; So many hours must I contemplate; So many hours must I sport myself; So many days my ewes have been with young; So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean; So many years ere I shall shear the fleece: So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years, Pass'd over to the end they were created, Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.
37 psl. - This battle fares like to the morning's war, When dying clouds contend with growing light ; What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails, Can neither call it perfect day nor night.
37 psl. - O God! methinks it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run, How many make the hour full complete; How many hours bring about the day; How many days will finish up the year; How many years a mortal man may live.