The Plays of William Shakespeare in Eight Volumes: With the Corrections and Illustrations of Various Commentators; to which are Added Notes by Sam Johnson, 3 tomas
J. and R. Tonson, 1765
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The Plays of William Shakespeare With the Corrections and ..., 3 tomas
Visos knygos peržiūra - 1805
The Plays of William Shakespeare ... With the Corrections and ..., 3 tomas
Visos knygos peržiūra - 1809
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bear Beat believe Benedick better blood bring brother Cath Changes Claud Claudio comes Count daughter death doth Duke Enter Exeunt Exit eyes face fair faith fame father fear feems fellow fenfe fhall fhould fome fool foul fpeak France fuch fweet give hand hath hear heart heav'n Hero hold honour hope I'll Italy John keep King lady leave Leon live look Lord Madam mafter marry mean moft mother muft muſt nature never night peace Pedro play poor pray Prince SCENE Signior tell thank thee thefe THEOBALD theſe thing thou thought tongue true truth WARBURTON wife wrong young
465 psl. - To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet, To smooth the ice, or add another hue Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, Is wasteful, and ridiculous excess.
93 psl. - Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee, And for thy maintenance commits his body To painful labour both by sea and land...
457 psl. - There's nothing in this world can make me joy : Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale, Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man ; And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste, That it yields nought but shame and bitterness.
499 psl. - This England never did, (nor never shall,) Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, But when it first did help to wound itself. Now these her princes are come home again, Come the three corners of the world in arms, And we shall shock them : Nought shall make us rue, If England to itself do rest but true.
456 psl. - Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form; Then, have I reason to be fond of grief ? Fare you well: had you such a loss as I, I could give better comfort than you do.
361 psl. - The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together : our virtues would be proud if our faults whipped them not; and our crimes would despair if they were not cherished by our virtues.