The Works of Mr. William Shakespear;: In Six Volumes. Adorn'd with Cuts, 4 tomasJacob Tonson, within Grays-Inn Gate, next Grays-Inn Lane., 1709 |
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Rezultatai 1–5 iš 89
1554 psl.
... World , My Soul to Heav'n , my Blood upon your Heads . North . Had he been Slaughter - man to all my Kin , I fhould not for my Life but weep with him , To fee how inly Sorrow gripes his Soul . Queen . What , weeping ripe , my Lord ...
... World , My Soul to Heav'n , my Blood upon your Heads . North . Had he been Slaughter - man to all my Kin , I fhould not for my Life but weep with him , To fee how inly Sorrow gripes his Soul . Queen . What , weeping ripe , my Lord ...
1555 psl.
... World , Whate'er it bodes , henceforward will I bear Upon my Target three fair fhining Suns . Rich . Nay , bear three Daughters : By your leave , I fp ak it , You love the Breeder better than the Male . C 2 Enter Enter a Messenger . But ...
... World , Whate'er it bodes , henceforward will I bear Upon my Target three fair fhining Suns . Rich . Nay , bear three Daughters : By your leave , I fp ak it , You love the Breeder better than the Male . C 2 Enter Enter a Messenger . But ...
1564 psl.
... World frowns , and Edward's Sun is clouded . War . How now , my Lord , what hap ? What hope of good ? Enter Clarence . Cla . Our Hap is Lofs , our Hope but fad Despair , Our Ranks are broke , and Ruin follows us . What What Counsel give ...
... World frowns , and Edward's Sun is clouded . War . How now , my Lord , what hap ? What hope of good ? Enter Clarence . Cla . Our Hap is Lofs , our Hope but fad Despair , Our Ranks are broke , and Ruin follows us . What What Counsel give ...
1567 psl.
... World , but Grief and Woe ? Oh God ! methinks it were a happy Life , To be no better than a homely Swain , To fit upon a Hill , as I do now , To carve out Dials queintly , point by point , Thereby to see the Minutes how they run : How ...
... World , but Grief and Woe ? Oh God ! methinks it were a happy Life , To be no better than a homely Swain , To fit upon a Hill , as I do now , To carve out Dials queintly , point by point , Thereby to see the Minutes how they run : How ...
1572 psl.
... World goes hard , When Clifford cannot fpare his Friends an Oath : I know by that he's dead , and by my Soul , If this right hand would buy but two hours life , That I , in all defpight , might rail at kim , This hand fhould chop it off ...
... World goes hard , When Clifford cannot fpare his Friends an Oath : I know by that he's dead , and by my Soul , If this right hand would buy but two hours life , That I , in all defpight , might rail at kim , This hand fhould chop it off ...
Kiti leidimai - Peržiūrėti viską
The Works of Mr. William Shakespear;– In Six Volumes. Adorn'd with Cuts, 4 tomas William Shakespeare Visos knygos peržiūra - 1709 |
The Works of Mr. William Shakespear;– In Eight Volumes. Adorn'd with Cutts William Shakespeare,Nicholas Rowe Visos knygos peržiūra - 1714 |
The Works of Mr. William Shakespear;– In Eight Volumes. Adorn'd ..., 4 tomas William Shakespeare Visos knygos peržiūra - 1714 |
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Achilles againſt Agamemnon Ajax Andronicus Blood Brother Buck Buckingham Calchas Caufe Cham Clar Clarence Cominius Coriolanus Coufin Crown Curfe Death defire Diomede doth Duke Duke of York e'er Edward Enter Exeunt Exit Eyes fafe faid Farewel Father fear felf felves fent fhall fhew fhould flain fome fpeak Friends ftand ftay ftill fuch fweet give Goths Grace Haftings Hand hath hear Heart Heav'n Hector Henry himſelf Honour i'th King Lady Lavinia lefs Lord Lord Chamberlain Love Lucius Madam Martius moft morrow muft muſt Noble o'th Pandarus Patroclus Peace pleaſe pleaſure pray prefent Priam Prince Queen Reafon reft Rich Rome ſhall Soul ſpeak Sword Tears tell thee thefe Ther theſe thine thofe thou art Titus Titus Andronicus Tongue Troi Troilus unto Vlyf Warwick whofe
Populiarios ištraukos
1630 psl. - Was ever woman in this humour woo'd ? Was ever woman in this humour won ? I'll have her, but I will not keep her long. What ! I, that kill'd her husband and his father, To take her in her heart's extremest hate ; With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, The bleeding witness of her hatred by ; Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me, And I no friends to back my suit withal, But the plain devil, and dissembling looks, And yet to win her, — all the world to nothing ! Ha!
1774 psl. - This many summers in a sea of glory ; But far beyond my depth ; my high-blown pride At length broke under me ; and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
1776 psl. - Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell; And, when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me more must be heard of, say, I taught thee; Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, And sounded all the depths and shoals of...
1859 psl. - That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand, And with his arms outstretch'd, as he would fly, Grasps in the comer : welcome ever smiles, And farewell goes out sighing. O ! let not virtue seek Remuneration for the thing it was ; For beauty, wit, High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service, Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all To envious and calumniating time. One touch of nature makes the whole world kin, That all with one consent praise new-born gawds, Though they are made and moulded...
1567 psl. - So many hours must I tend my flock; So many hours must I take my rest; So many hours must I contemplate; So many hours must I sport myself; So many days my ewes have been with young; So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean; So many years...
1777 psl. - Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not ; Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's ; then, if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr.
1839 psl. - Twixt right and wrong ; for pleasure and revenge Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice Of any true decision.
1775 psl. - O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours ! There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or women have; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again.
1782 psl. - O, father abbot, An old man, broken with the storms of state, Is come to lay his weary bones among ye ; Give him a little earth for charity...
1749 psl. - tis better to be lowly born, And range with humble livers in content, Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief, And wear a golden sorrow.