Kiti leidimai - Peržiūrėti viską
Achilles Afide Agamemnon Ajax Andronicus anfwer Baffianus Banquo blood brother Calchas Clot Cloten Creffid Cymbeline defire Diomede doth Emperor Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fafe falfe fear feem felf fhall fhew fhould fight flain fleep fome fons forrow foul fpeak ftand ftill ftrange fuch fure fweet fword Goths Guiderius hand hath heart heav'n Hector himſelf honour i'th Iach Imogen King Lady Lavinia Lord Lucius Macb Macbeth Macd Macduff Mach mafter Marcus Menelaus moft moſt muft muſt Neft noble o'th Pandarus Patroclus Pifanio pleaſe Poft Pofthumus prefent Priam purpoſe Queen Roffe Rome Saturnine ſay SCENE ſelf ſhall ſpeak Tamora tell Thane thee thefe Ther there's Therfites theſe thofe thoſe thou art thouſand Titus Titus Andronicus Troi Troilus Ulyf what's whofe Witch
191 psl. - Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, A great-sized monster of ingratitudes : Those scraps are good deeds past : which are devour'd As fast as they are made, forgot as soon As done...
83 psl. - Your face, my thane, is as a book, where men May read strange matters : To beguile the time, Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under it.
91 psl. - What hands are here? ha! they pluck out mine eyes! Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood Clean from my hand? No; this my hand will rather The multitudinous seas incarnadine, Making the green one red.
85 psl. - Besides, this Duncan Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking-off...
111 psl. - Fillet of a fenny snake, In the cauldron boil and bake : Eye of newt, and toe of frog, Wool of bat, and tongue of dog...
106 psl. - The times have been That, when the brains were out, the man would die, And there an end ; but now they rise again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our stools.
103 psl. - Come, seeling night, Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day; And with thy bloody and invisible hand Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond Which keeps me pale!
127 psl. - To bed, to bed; there's knocking at the gate: come, come, come, come, give me your hand: what's done cannot be undone: to bed, to bed, to bed.