The Works of Shakespeare: In Eight Volumes : Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected, with Notes, Explanatory, and Critical, 8 tomasC. Hitch and L. Hawes, J. and R. Tonson, B. Dod, G. Woodfall, J. Rivington, R. Baldwin, T. Longman, S. Crowder and Company, W. Johnson, C. Corbet, T. Lownds, and T. Caslon, 1762 |
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13 psl.
... she is you love ? Rom , What , fhall I groan and tell thee ? Ben . Groan ? why , no ; but fadly tell me , who . Rom . Bid a fick man in fadnefs make his will ? - O word , ill - urg'd to one that is fo ill ! In fadnefs , coufin , I do ...
... she is you love ? Rom , What , fhall I groan and tell thee ? Ben . Groan ? why , no ; but fadly tell me , who . Rom . Bid a fick man in fadnefs make his will ? - O word , ill - urg'd to one that is fo ill ! In fadnefs , coufin , I do ...
14 psl.
... She hath , and in that fparing makes huge wafte . For beauty , ftarv'd with her feverity , Cuts beauty off from all pofterity . She is too fair , too wife ; wifely too fair , To merit blifs by making me defpair ; She hath forfworn to ...
... She hath , and in that fparing makes huge wafte . For beauty , ftarv'd with her feverity , Cuts beauty off from all pofterity . She is too fair , too wife ; wifely too fair , To merit blifs by making me defpair ; She hath forfworn to ...
15 psl.
... she . She is the hopeful lady of my earth : But woo her , gentle Paris , get her heart , My will to her confent is but a part ; If the agree , within her fcope of choice Lies my confent , and fair according voice : This night , I hold ...
... she . She is the hopeful lady of my earth : But woo her , gentle Paris , get her heart , My will to her confent is but a part ; If the agree , within her fcope of choice Lies my confent , and fair according voice : This night , I hold ...
18 psl.
... She's not fourteen . Nurfe I'll lay fourteen of my teeth , ( and yet to my teen be it spoken , I have but four ; ) fhe's not fourteen ; how long is it now to Lammas - tide ? La . Cap . A fortnight and odd days . Nurfe . Even or odd , of ...
... She's not fourteen . Nurfe I'll lay fourteen of my teeth , ( and yet to my teen be it spoken , I have but four ; ) fhe's not fourteen ; how long is it now to Lammas - tide ? La . Cap . A fortnight and odd days . Nurfe . Even or odd , of ...
22 psl.
... She : 1 . ( 4 ) 0 , then I fee , Queen Mab bath been with you : She is the Fairies ' Midwife . ] Thus begins that admirable Speech upon the Effects of the Imagination in Dreams . But , Queen Mab the Fairies ' Midwife ? What is the then ...
... She : 1 . ( 4 ) 0 , then I fee , Queen Mab bath been with you : She is the Fairies ' Midwife . ] Thus begins that admirable Speech upon the Effects of the Imagination in Dreams . But , Queen Mab the Fairies ' Midwife ? What is the then ...
Kiti leidimai - Peržiūrėti viską
The Works of Shakespeare Collated with the Oldest Copies, and ..., 8 tomas William Shakespeare Visos knygos peržiūra - 1773 |
The Works of Shakespeare In Eight Volumes ; Collated with the ..., 8 tomas William Shakespeare Visos knygos peržiūra - 1740 |
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
againſt Benvolio Brabantio Caffio Capulet Clown Cyprus dead dear death Defdemona Denmark doft thou doth Duke Emil Enter ev'n Exeunt Exit eyes faid fair Farewel father feems feen fenfe fhall fhew fhould firft flain fleep fome Fortinbras foul fpeak Friar Lawrence ftand ftill fuch fure fweet fword gentlemen give Hamlet hath hear heart heav'n himſelf honeft Horatio houfe huſband Iago is't itſelf Juliet King lady Laer Laertes lago look Lord Madam Mantua marry Mercutio moft Moor moſt muft murder muſt myſelf night Nurfe Nurſe Ophelia Othello Perfon poifon Polonius pray Quarto Queen reafon reft Rodorigo Romeo SCENE ſhall ſhe ſpeak tell thee thefe there's theſe thing thofe thou art to-night Tybalt uſe villain whofe wife William Shakespeare yourſelf
Populiarios ištraukos
32 psl. - What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O! be some other name: What's in a name?
190 psl. - What is a man, If his chief good and market of his time Be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more. Sure he that made us with such large discourse, Looking before and after, gave us not That capability and god-like reason To fust in us unus'd.
251 psl. - That I did love the Moor to live with him, My downright violence and storm of fortunes May trumpet to the world ; my heart's subdued Even to the very quality of my lord : I saw Othello's visage in his mind ; And to his honours, and his valiant parts, Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate.
210 psl. - I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come ; make her laugh at that. Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing. Hor. What's that, my lord? Ham. Dost thou think Alexander looked o' this fashion i
114 psl. - ... uncle, My father's brother, but no more like my father Than I to Hercules: within a month, Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears Had left the flushing in her galled eyes, She married.
175 psl. - In the corrupted currents of this world Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice; And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself Buys out the law. But 'tis not...
160 psl. - Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue : but if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines.
120 psl. - Are most select and generous, chief in that. Neither a borrower nor a lender be; For loan oft loses both itself and friend, And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
66 psl. - It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale ; look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east. Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops; I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
36 psl. - Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone: And yet no further than a wanton's bird; Who lets it hop a little from her hand, Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, And with a silk thread plucks it back again, So loving-jealous of his liberty.