The works of Shakespear [ed. by H. Blair], in which the beauties observed by Pope, Warburton and Dodd are pointed out, together with the author's life; a glossary [&c.]. |
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12 psl.
... pray thee ? Rom . For your broken fhin . Ben . Why , Romeo , art thou mad ? : Rom . Not mad , but bound more than a ... pray , Sir , can you read ? Rom . Ay , nine own fortune in my mifery . Ser . Perhaps you have learn'd it without book ...
... pray thee ? Rom . For your broken fhin . Ben . Why , Romeo , art thou mad ? : Rom . Not mad , but bound more than a ... pray , Sir , can you read ? Rom . Ay , nine own fortune in my mifery . Ser . Perhaps you have learn'd it without book ...
14 psl.
... pray thee , hold thy peace . Nurfe . Yes , Madam : yet I cannot chufe but laugh , to think it should leave crying , and fay Ay ; and yet I warrant , it had upon its brow a bump as big as a young cockrel's ftone : a perilous knock , and ...
... pray thee , hold thy peace . Nurfe . Yes , Madam : yet I cannot chufe but laugh , to think it should leave crying , and fay Ay ; and yet I warrant , it had upon its brow a bump as big as a young cockrel's ftone : a perilous knock , and ...
21 psl.
... prayer , Rom . O then , dear faint , let lips do what hands do . They pray , ( grant thou ) , left faith turn to defpair + Nurfe Cap . " He fhall be endur'd . " What , goodman boy I fay , he shall . " Am I the mafter here , or you ? go ...
... prayer , Rom . O then , dear faint , let lips do what hands do . They pray , ( grant thou ) , left faith turn to defpair + Nurfe Cap . " He fhall be endur'd . " What , goodman boy I fay , he shall . " Am I the mafter here , or you ? go ...
22 psl.
... prayers ' effe & t I take . Thus from my lips , by thine , my fin is pure'd . Jul . Then have my lips the fin that Lite they took . Rm . Sin from my lips ! O trefpafs , fweetly urge'd ! Give me my fin again . Jul . You kifs by ' h ...
... prayers ' effe & t I take . Thus from my lips , by thine , my fin is pure'd . Jul . Then have my lips the fin that Lite they took . Rm . Sin from my lips ! O trefpafs , fweetly urge'd ! Give me my fin again . Jul . You kifs by ' h ...
31 psl.
... pray , That thou confent to marry us this day .. Fri. Holy Saint Francis , what a change is here ! Is Rofaline , whom thou didst love so dear , So foon forfaken ? young mens love then lies Not truly in their hearts , but in their eyes ...
... pray , That thou confent to marry us this day .. Fri. Holy Saint Francis , what a change is here ! Is Rofaline , whom thou didst love so dear , So foon forfaken ? young mens love then lies Not truly in their hearts , but in their eyes ...
Kiti leidimai - Peržiūrėti viską
The works of Shakespear [ed. by H. Blair], in which the beauties observed by ... William Shakespeare Visos knygos peržiūra - 1769 |
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
againſt art thou Benvolio Brabantio Caffio Capulet Clown Cyprus dead death defcribed Defdemona doft doth Duke elfe Emil Enter Exeunt Exit eyes faid fame Farewel father fear feem feen fenfe fhall fhew fhould flain fleep foliloquy fome forrow Fortinbras foul fpeak fpeech fpirit Friar Friar Lawrence ftand ftill fuch fure fweet fword Gentlemen give Hamlet hath hear heart heav'n himſelf honeft Horatio huſband Iago is't itſelf Juliet King Lady Laer Laertes lago Lord Madam marry Mercutio moft moſt muft murther muſt myſelf night Nurfe nurſe Ophelia Othello perfon Polonius pray prifoner Prince Queen Richard III Rodorigo Romeo SCENE ſhall ſpeak tell thee thefe theſe thing thofe thou art to-night Tybalt uſed viii villain whofe wife word yourſelf
Populiarios ištraukos
147 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.
133 psl. - No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp, And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee Where thrift may follow fawning.
27 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.
105 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!
177 psl. - I loved Ophelia: forty thousand brothers Could not with all their quantity of love, Make up my sum.
29 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.
157 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.
119 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.
177 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.
125 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...