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1 psl.
Bertram , Count of Roufillon . Lafeu , an old Lord . Parolles , a parafitical follower of Bertram ; a coward , but vain , | and a great pretender to valour , Several young French Lords , that Jerve with Bertram in the Flo- rentine war .
Bertram , Count of Roufillon . Lafeu , an old Lord . Parolles , a parafitical follower of Bertram ; a coward , but vain , | and a great pretender to valour , Several young French Lords , that Jerve with Bertram in the Flo- rentine war .
2 psl.
Count . What hope is there of his Majefty's amend- ment ? Laf . He hatl . abandon'd his phyficians , Madam , un- der whofe practices he hath perfecuted time with hope ; and finds no other advantage in the procefs , but only the lofing ...
Count . What hope is there of his Majefty's amend- ment ? Laf . He hatl . abandon'd his phyficians , Madam , un- der whofe practices he hath perfecuted time with hope ; and finds no other advantage in the procefs , but only the lofing ...
3 psl.
Count . If the living be not enemy to the grief , the ex- ceís makes it foon mortal : Ber . Madam , I defire your holy wishes . Laf . How understand we that ? Count . Be thou blefs'd , Bertram , and fucceed thy father In manners as in ...
Count . If the living be not enemy to the grief , the ex- ceís makes it foon mortal : Ber . Madam , I defire your holy wishes . Laf . How understand we that ? Count . Be thou blefs'd , Bertram , and fucceed thy father In manners as in ...
8 psl.
It is the Count Roufillon , my good Lord ,. Young Bertram . King . Youth , thou bear'ft thy father's face . Frank nature , rather curious than in hafte , Hath well compos'd thee . Thy father's moral parts May't thou inherit too !
It is the Count Roufillon , my good Lord ,. Young Bertram . King . Youth , thou bear'ft thy father's face . Frank nature , rather curious than in hafte , Hath well compos'd thee . Thy father's moral parts May't thou inherit too !
9 psl.
How long is't , Count , Since the phyfician at your father's died ? He was much fam'd . Ber . Some fix months fince , my Lord . King . If he were living , I would try him yet ; - Lend me an arm ; the reft have worn me out With feveral ...
How long is't , Count , Since the phyfician at your father's died ? He was much fam'd . Ber . Some fix months fince , my Lord . King . If he were living , I would try him yet ; - Lend me an arm ; the reft have worn me out With feveral ...
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The Works Of Shakespear. In which the Beauties Observed by Pope, Warburton ... William Shakespeare Visos knygos peržiūra - 1769 |
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
bear better blood bring brother Changes comes Count court daughter dear death doth Dromio Duke ears Enter Exeunt Exit eyes face fair faith father fear fellow fhall fhould fince fome fool fortune foul fpeak France ftand fuch fweet give gone hand hath hear heart heav'n hold honour hope hour I'll John keep King Lady leave live look Lord Madam mafter marry mean moft mother muft muſt nature never Paul peace Phil poor pray Prince Queen ring SCENE ſhall ſpeak tell thanks thee thefe there's theſe thine thing thou art thought tongue true whofe wife young
Populiarios ištraukos
324 psl. - Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form; Then, have I reason to be fond of grief ? Fare you well: had you such a loss as I, I could give better comfort than you do.
248 psl. - By bud of nobler race : this is an art Which does mend nature, change it rather, but The art itself is nature.
324 psl. - There's nothing in this world can make me joy : Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale, Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man ; And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste, That it yields nought but shame and bitterness.
330 psl. - To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet, To smooth the ice, or add another hue Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, Is wasteful, and ridiculous excess.
57 psl. - The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together: our virtues would be proud if our faults whipped them not ; and our crimes would despair if they were not cherished by our virtues.