The Plays of William Shakspeare. ....T. Bensley, 1800 |
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psl.
... SALISBURY . Earl of SUFFOLK . Lord TALBOT , afterwards Earl of SHREWSBURY : JOHN TALBOT , his fon . EDMUND MORTIMER , Earl of March . Mortimer's Keeper , and a Lawyer . Sir JOHN FASTOLFE . Sir WILLIAM LUCY . Sir WILLIAM GLANSDALE . Sir ...
... SALISBURY . Earl of SUFFOLK . Lord TALBOT , afterwards Earl of SHREWSBURY : JOHN TALBOT , his fon . EDMUND MORTIMER , Earl of March . Mortimer's Keeper , and a Lawyer . Sir JOHN FASTOLFE . Sir WILLIAM LUCY . Sir WILLIAM GLANSDALE . Sir ...
6 psl.
... Salisbury craveth supply , And hardly keeps his men from mutiny , Since they , fo few , watch fuch a multitude . Exe . Remember , lords , your oaths to Henry fworn ; Either to quell the Dauphin utterly , Or bring him in obedience to ...
... Salisbury craveth supply , And hardly keeps his men from mutiny , Since they , fo few , watch fuch a multitude . Exe . Remember , lords , your oaths to Henry fworn ; Either to quell the Dauphin utterly , Or bring him in obedience to ...
8 psl.
... Salisbury ; And he may well in fretting spend his gall , Nor men , nor money , hath he to make war . Char . Sound , found alarum ; we will rush on them . Now for the honour of the forlorn French : - Him I forgive my death , that killeth ...
... Salisbury ; And he may well in fretting spend his gall , Nor men , nor money , hath he to make war . Char . Sound , found alarum ; we will rush on them . Now for the honour of the forlorn French : - Him I forgive my death , that killeth ...
18 psl.
... SALISBURY and Sir THOMAS Sal . O Lord , have mercy on us , wretched finners ! Gar . O Lord , have mercy on me , woful man ! Tal . What chance is this , that fuddenly hath crofs'd us ? - Speak , Salisbury ; at least , if thou canst speak ...
... SALISBURY and Sir THOMAS Sal . O Lord , have mercy on us , wretched finners ! Gar . O Lord , have mercy on me , woful man ! Tal . What chance is this , that fuddenly hath crofs'd us ? - Speak , Salisbury ; at least , if thou canst speak ...
19 psl.
... Salisbury ? though thy speech doth fail , One eye thou haft to look to heaven for grace : The fun with one eye vieweth all the world.— Heaven , be thou gracious to none alive , If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands ! — Bear hence his ...
... Salisbury ? though thy speech doth fail , One eye thou haft to look to heaven for grace : The fun with one eye vieweth all the world.— Heaven , be thou gracious to none alive , If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands ! — Bear hence his ...
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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.