The Works of Shakespeare: in Eight Volumes, 8 tomasH. Woodfall, 1767 |
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16 psl.
... never find what names the writing perfon hath here writ . I muft to the Learned . - In good time , - Enter Benvolio and Romeo . Ben . Tut , man ! one fire burns out another's burning , One pain is leffen'd by another's anguish : Turn ...
... never find what names the writing perfon hath here writ . I muft to the Learned . - In good time , - Enter Benvolio and Romeo . Ben . Tut , man ! one fire burns out another's burning , One pain is leffen'd by another's anguish : Turn ...
17 psl.
... never die , Transparent hereticks , be burnt for liars ! One fairer than my love ! th ' all - feeing Sun Ne'er faw her match , fince firft the world begun . Ben . Tut ! tut ! you faw her fair , none elfe being by Herself . pois'd with ...
... never die , Transparent hereticks , be burnt for liars ! One fairer than my love ! th ' all - feeing Sun Ne'er faw her match , fince firft the world begun . Ben . Tut ! tut ! you faw her fair , none elfe being by Herself . pois'd with ...
19 psl.
... never fhall forget it , of all the days in the year , upon that day ; for I had then laid worm - wood to my dug , fitting in the fun under the dove - house wall , my Lord and you were then at Mantua- nay , I do bear brain . But , as I ...
... never fhall forget it , of all the days in the year , upon that day ; for I had then laid worm - wood to my dug , fitting in the fun under the dove - house wall , my Lord and you were then at Mantua- nay , I do bear brain . But , as I ...
27 psl.
... never faw true beauty till this night . 1yb . This by his voice fhould be a Montague . Fetch me my rapier , boy : what ! dares the flave Come hither cover'd with an antick face ,, To fleer and fcorn at our folemnity ? Now by the stock ...
... never faw true beauty till this night . 1yb . This by his voice fhould be a Montague . Fetch me my rapier , boy : what ! dares the flave Come hither cover'd with an antick face ,, To fleer and fcorn at our folemnity ? Now by the stock ...
32 psl.
... never felt a wound- H But , foft ! what light thro ' yonder window It is the Eaft , and Juliet is the Sun ! [ breaks ? [ Juliet appears above , at a window . Arife , fair Sun , and kill the envious moon , Who is already fick and pale ...
... never felt a wound- H But , foft ! what light thro ' yonder window It is the Eaft , and Juliet is the Sun ! [ breaks ? [ Juliet appears above , at a window . Arife , fair Sun , and kill the envious moon , Who is already fick and pale ...
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againſt becauſe Benvolio Brabantio Caffio call'd Capulet Clown Cyprus dead death Defdemona Desdemona doft doth Duke Emil Enter ev'n Exeunt Exit eyes faid fame father fatire feems feen fenfe fhall fhew fhould flain fleep fome Fortinbras foul fpeak fpirit Friar Lawrence ftand ftill fuch fure fweet fword gentleman give Hamlet hath heart heav'n himſelf honeft Horatio houſe huſband Iago is't itſelf Juliet King lady Laer Laertes lago loft Lord married Mercutio moft Moor moſt muft muſt myſelf night Nurfe Ophelia Othello paffage Perfon play pleaſe Poet Polonius pray purpoſe Quarto Queen reafon Rodorigo Romeo ſay Shakespeare ſhall ſhe ſpeak tell thee thefe there's theſe thing thofe thou art to-night Tybalt uſe villain whofe wife William Shakespeare word yourſelf
Populiarios ištraukos
231 psl. - tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now ; if it be not now, yet it will come : the readiness is all : Since no man, of aught he leaves, knows, what is't to leave betimes ?
17 psl. - Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers. And in this state she gallops night by night Through lovers...
123 psl. - I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul ; freeze thy young blood ; Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres...
177 psl. - Tis now the very witching time of night When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world. Now could I drink hot blood, And do such bitter business as the day Would quake to look on.
185 psl. - Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes? You cannot call it love, for at your age The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble, And waits upon the judgment; and what judgment Would step from this to this?
221 psl. - I have kissed 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
160 psl. - As made the things more rich; their perfume lost, Take these again; for to the noble mind Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.
261 psl. - Their dearest action in the tented field, And little of this great world can I speak, More than pertains to feats of broil and battle, And therefore little shall I grace my cause In speaking for myself.
31 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.
26 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.