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 |
Knygos viduje
Rezultatai 1–5 iš 24
261 psl.
... Emil . You have little cause to say so . Iago . Come on , come on ; you're pictures out of doors , Bells in your parlours , wild - cats in your kitchens , Saints in your injuries , devils being offended , Players in your housewifery ...
... Emil . You have little cause to say so . Iago . Come on , come on ; you're pictures out of doors , Bells in your parlours , wild - cats in your kitchens , Saints in your injuries , devils being offended , Players in your housewifery ...
281 psl.
... kind and honeft . To him , enter Æmilia . [ Exit Emil Good - morrow , good lieutenant , I am forry For your displeasure ; but all will , fure , be well . The The General and his wife are talking of it : Moor of VENICE . 281.
... kind and honeft . To him , enter Æmilia . [ Exit Emil Good - morrow , good lieutenant , I am forry For your displeasure ; but all will , fure , be well . The The General and his wife are talking of it : Moor of VENICE . 281.
282 psl.
... Emil . Pray you , come in ; I will bestow you where you fhall have time To speak your bofom freely . Caf . I'm much bound to you . Enter Othello , Iago , and Gentlemen . Oth . These letters give , Iago , to the pilot , And by him do my ...
... Emil . Pray you , come in ; I will bestow you where you fhall have time To speak your bofom freely . Caf . I'm much bound to you . Enter Othello , Iago , and Gentlemen . Oth . These letters give , Iago , to the pilot , And by him do my ...
283 psl.
... Emil . Madam , here comes my Lord . Caf . Madam , I'll take my leave . Def . Why , ftay , and hear me fpeak . Caf . Madam , not now ; I am very ill at ease , Unfit for mine own purposes . Def . Well , do your difcretion . Iago . Hah ! I ...
... Emil . Madam , here comes my Lord . Caf . Madam , I'll take my leave . Def . Why , ftay , and hear me fpeak . Caf . Madam , not now ; I am very ill at ease , Unfit for mine own purposes . Def . Well , do your difcretion . Iago . Hah ! I ...
291 psl.
... Emil . I am glad , I have found this napkin ; This was her first remembrance from the Moor ; My wayward husband hath ... Emil . Do not you chide ; I have a thing for you . Iago . You have a thing for me ? It is a common thing- Emil . Ha ...
... Emil . I am glad , I have found this napkin ; This was her first remembrance from the Moor ; My wayward husband hath ... Emil . Do not you chide ; I have a thing for you . Iago . You have a thing for me ? It is a common thing- Emil . Ha ...
Kiti leidimai - Peržiūrėti viską
The Works of Shakespeare– In Eight Volumes. Collated with the Oldest Copies ... William Shakespeare Visos knygos peržiūra - 1740 |
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.