The Plays of William Shakespeare in Eight Volumes: With the Corrections and Illustrations of Various Commentators; to which are Added Notes by Sam Johnson, 6 tomas

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J. and R. Tonson, 1765
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132 psl. - Methinks I should know you, and know this man; Yet I am doubtful; for I am mainly ignorant What place this is; and all the skill I have Remembers not these garments; nor I know not Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me; For (as I am a man) I think this lady To be my child Cordelia.
427 psl. - The times have been That, when the brains were out, the man would die, And there an end ; but now they rise again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our stools.
421 psl. - Come, seeling night, Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day; And with thy bloody and invisible hand Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond Which keeps me pale!
26 psl. - ... we make guilty of our disasters the sun the moon and the stars ; as if we were villains by necessity, fools by heavenly compulsion, knaves thieves and treachers by spherical predominance, drunkards liars and adulterers by an enforced obedience of planetary influence, and all that we are evil in by a divine thrusting on...
403 psl. - The night has been unruly : where we lay, Our chimneys were blown down : and, as they say, Lamentings heard i...
459 psl. - To bed, to bed; there's knocking at the gate: come, come, come, come, give me your hand: what's done cannot be undone: to bed, to bed, to bed.
117 psl. - tis, to cast one's eyes so low! The crows and choughs that wing the midway air Show scarce so gross as beetles: halfway down Hangs one that gathers samphire, dreadful trade! Methinks he seems no bigger than his head: The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, Appear like mice; and yond...
149 psl. - I'd use them so That heaven's vault should crack. — She's gone for ever ! — I know when one is dead, and when one lives ; She's dead as earth.
390 psl. - Like the poor cat i' the adage? MACB. Prithee, peace. I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more is none. LADY M. What beast was't, then, That made you break this enterprise to me? When you durst do it, then you were a man; And, to be more than what you were, you would Be so much more the man. Nor time nor place Did then adhere, and yet you would make both. They have made themselves, and that their fitness now Does unmake you.
131 psl. - tis fittest. Cor. How does my royal lord? How fares your majesty? Lear. You do me wrong, to take me out o' the grave. — Thou art a soul in bliss ; but I am bound Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears Do scald like molten lead.

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