The Works of Shakespear: In Six Volumes, 6 tomas
J. and P. Knapton, S. Birt, T. Longman, H. Lintot, C. Hitch, J. Brindley, J. and R. Tonson and S. Draper, R. and B. Wellington, E. New, and B. Dod, 1745
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Achilles Ajax bear better blood bring Caffio Clot comes dead dear death doth ears emend Emil Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair fall fame father fear felf fhall fhould fight follow fome fool foul fpeak ftand fuch fweet give gone Hamlet hand hath head hear heart heav'n Hector hold honour I'll Iago keep King Lady leave light live look Lord marry matter means moft moſt mother muft muſt nature never night Nurfe old edit Paris play Poft poor pray Prince Queen Romeo SCENE ſpeak tell thee thefe Ther there's theſe thing thou thou art thought Troi Troilus true villain what's whofe wife young
518 psl. - But there, where I have garner'd up my heart, Where either I must live or bear no life, The fountain from the which my current runs, Or else dries up...
327 psl. - Nor the dejected haviour of the visage, Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief, That can denote me truly: These, indeed, seem, For they are actions that a man might play : But I have that within, which passeth show; These, but the trappings and the suits of woe.
64 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...
383 psl. - Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me! You would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass: and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ, yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think, I am easier to be played on than a pipe...
494 psl. - O curse of marriage, That we can call these delicate creatures ours, And not their appetites ! I had rather be a toad, And live upon the vapour of a dungeon, Than keep a corner in the thing I love For others
268 psl. - These violent delights have violent ends, And in their triumph die ! like fire and powder, Which, as they kiss, consume.
252 psl. - Would through the airy region stream so bright, That birds would sing, and think it were not night See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand ! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek ! Jul.
390 psl. - You cannot call it love; for at your age The heyday in the blood is tame, it's humble, And waits upon the judgment; and what judgment Would step from this to this?