The Dramatic Works of William Shakspeare, 7 tomas
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The Dramatic Works of William Shakspeare... Embracing a Life of ..., 7 tomas
Visos knygos peržiūra - 1851
The Dramatic Works of William Shakspeare With a Life of the Poet ..., 7 tomas
Visos knygos peržiūra - 1841
The Dramatic Works of William Shakspeare; With a Life of the Poet, and ...
Visos knygos peržiūra - 1836
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
Antony appear arms Attendants bear better blood bring brother Brutus Cæsar Casca Cassius cause Char Cleo Cleopatra comes daughter dead death doth emperor Enter Exeunt Exit eyes face fall father fear follow fortune friends give gods gone hand hath head hear heart heaven hold honour I'll Iach Italy keep king lady leave live look lord Lucius madam Marcus Mark master mean mind nature never night noble once peace Pericles play poor Post pray present prince queen Roman Rome SCENE Sold soldier sons speak stand sweet sword tears tell thank thee thine thing thou thou art thou hast thought Titus tongue true wish worthy
47 psl. - Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears ; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them ; The good is oft interred with their bones ; So let it be with Caesar.
47 psl. - Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; And Brutus is an honourable man. You all did see, that on the Lupercal, I thrice presented him a kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ? Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; And, sure, he is an honourable man.
83 psl. - NAY, but this dotage of our general's O'erflows the measure : those his goodly eyes, That o'er the files and musters of the war Have glow'd like plated Mars, now bend, now turn, The office and devotion of their view Upon a tawny front : his captain's heart, Which in the scuffles of great fights hath burst The buckles on his breast, reneges* all temper; And is become the bellows, and the fan, To cool a gipsy's lust.
8 psl. - I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, As well as I do know your outward favour. Well, honour is the subject of my story. I cannot tell, what you and other men Think of this life; but, for my single self, I had as lief not be, as live to be In awe of such a thing as I m,yself. I was born free as Caesar; so were you: We both have fed as well; and we can both Endure the winter's cold, as well as he. For once, upon a raw and gusty day, The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores, Caesar said to...
195 psl. - Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have Immortal longings in me; now no more The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip. Yare, yare, good Iras; quick. Methinks I hear Antony call; I see him rouse himself To praise my noble act; I hear him mock The luck of Caesar, which the gods give men To excuse their after wrath: husband, I come: Now to that name my courage prove my title! I am fire and air; my other elements I give to baser life.
46 psl. - Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony: who, though he had no hand in his death , shall receive the benefit of his dying, a place in the commonwealth ; As which of you shall not ? With this I depart ; That, as I slew my bes't lover" for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger for myself, when it shall please my country to need my death.
45 psl. - Who is here so base that would be a bondman ? If any, speak ; for him have I offended. Who is here so rude that would not be a Roman ? If any, speak ; for him have I offended. Who is here so vile that will not love his country ? If any, speak ; for him have I offended. I pause for a reply.
111 psl. - The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne, Burned on the water : the poop was beaten gold ; Purple the sails, and so perfumed, that The winds were love-sick with them : the oars were silver ; Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water, which they beat, to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes.
60 psl. - O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb That carries anger as the flint bears fire ; Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark, And straight is cold again.
50 psl. - O, now you weep, and I perceive you feel The dint of pity; these are gracious drops. Kind souls, what! weep you when you but behold Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look you here, Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors.