Kiti leidimai - Peržiūrėti viską
The works of Shakespear [ed. by H. Blair], in which the beauties observed by ...
Visos knygos peržiūra - 1769
bear beauty blood Caffio Changes character Clown comes daughter dead dear death defcribed doth Duke Emil Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair fall fame Farewel father fear fhall fhould fight follow fome foul fpeak fpeech French fuch fweet give gone Hamlet hand hath head hear heart heav'n Henry hold I'll Iago Juliet keep kill King Lady Laer lago leave letter light live look Lord marry matter means moft Moor moſt mother murther muſt nature never night Nurfe Othello play poor pray Prince Queen Romeo SCENE ſpeak tell thee thefe theſe thing thou thought true viii villain whofe wife young
145 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 ? Sense, sure, you have.
25 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.
103 psl. - Remember thee? Yea, from the table of my memory I'll wipe away all trivial fond records, All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past, That youth and observation copied there, And thy commandment all alone shall live Within the book and volume of my brain, Unmix'd with baser matter: yes, by heaven!
175 psl. - I loved Ophelia: forty thousand brothers Could not with all their quantity of love, Make up my sum.
27 psl. - Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night: It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be Ere one can say 'It lightens.
155 psl. - ... and my blood, And let all sleep, while to my shame I see The imminent death of twenty thousand men, That for a fantasy and trick of fame Go to their graves like beds, fight for a plot Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause, Which is not tomb enough and continent To hide the slain ? O, from this time forth, My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth ! \Exit.
117 psl. - ... this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory, this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.
175 psl. - Dost thou come here to whine ? To outface me with leaping in her grave ? Be buried quick with her, and so will I : And, if thou prate of mountains, let them throw Millions of acres on us, till our ground, Singeing his pate against the burning zone, Make Ossa like a wart ! Nay, an thou'lt mouth, I'll rant as well as thou.
123 psl. - I'll leave you till night; you are welcome to Elsinore. Ros. Good my lord ! [Exeunt Rosencrantz and Giiildenstern. Ham. Ay, so, God be wi' ye :Now I am alone. O, what a rogue and 'peasant slave am I ! Is it not monstrous that this player here, But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, Could force his soul so to his own conceit...