The Works of Shakespeare in Seven Volumes, 6 tomas |
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20 psl.
( 7 ) Thou waft a Soldier Even to Calvus ' Wish ; ] T. Lartius is here fumming up his Friend's Character , as a Warrior that was terrible in his Strokes , in the Tone of his Voice , and the Grimness of his Countenance .
( 7 ) Thou waft a Soldier Even to Calvus ' Wish ; ] T. Lartius is here fumming up his Friend's Character , as a Warrior that was terrible in his Strokes , in the Tone of his Voice , and the Grimness of his Countenance .
21 psl.
In Engagements ( lays He ; ) he would use to ftrike luftily , with a fierce Countenance flare upon his Enemies , and with a harsh threatning Voice accoft them . Nor was he out in his Opinion , whilft he taught , that such rugged kind of ...
In Engagements ( lays He ; ) he would use to ftrike luftily , with a fierce Countenance flare upon his Enemies , and with a harsh threatning Voice accoft them . Nor was he out in his Opinion , whilft he taught , that such rugged kind of ...
23 psl.
This has the Air of an Imitation , whether Shakespeare really borrow'd it , or no , from the Original : I mean , what Ulyffes fays in the Greek Poet of being able to distinguish Minerva's Voice , tho he did not fee her .
This has the Air of an Imitation , whether Shakespeare really borrow'd it , or no , from the Original : I mean , what Ulyffes fays in the Greek Poet of being able to distinguish Minerva's Voice , tho he did not fee her .
44 psl.
I fhall lack voice : the Deeds of Coriolanus Should not be utter'd feebly . It is held , That valour is the chiefeft virtue , and Moft dignifies the Haver : if it be , The Man , I speak of , cannot in the world Be fingly counter ...
I fhall lack voice : the Deeds of Coriolanus Should not be utter'd feebly . It is held , That valour is the chiefeft virtue , and Moft dignifies the Haver : if it be , The Man , I speak of , cannot in the world Be fingly counter ...
47 psl.
Sir , the People muft have their voices , Nor will they bate one jot of ceremony . Men . Put them not to't : pray , fit you to the Custom , And take t'ye , as your Predeceffors have , Your Honour with your form . Cor .
Sir , the People muft have their voices , Nor will they bate one jot of ceremony . Men . Put them not to't : pray , fit you to the Custom , And take t'ye , as your Predeceffors have , Your Honour with your form . Cor .
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Antony Author bear better blood bring Britaine Brother Brutus Cæfar Cafar Caffius changes Char Cleo Cleopatra Clot comes Coriolanus dead death doth Enter Eros Exeunt Exit eyes fall fear felf fhall fhew fhould fight follow fome fortune fpeak friends ftand fuch fword give Gods gone Guid hand hath head hear heart himſelf hold honour I'll i'th Iach Italy keep King Lady leave live look Lord Madam Marcius Mark matter mean moft mother muft muſt Nature never night noble o'th peace Pleb Poet Poft poor Power pray Queen Roman Rome SCENE Senators ſpeak tell thee theſe thing thou thought true voices wife worthy
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171 psl. - As Caesar loved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honour him; but, as he was ambitious, I slew him.
174 psl. - tis his will : Let but the commons hear this testament, (Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read) And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds, And dip their napkins in his sacred blood ; Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, And, dying, mention it within their wills, Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy, Unto their issue.
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130 psl. - I cannot tell what you and other men Think of this life; but for my single self, I had as lief not be as live to be In awe of such a thing as I myself.
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132 psl. - Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world, Like a Colossus ; and we petty men Walk under his huge legs, and peep about To find ourselves dishonourable graves.
243 psl. - ... silken tackle Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands, That yarely frame the office. From the barge A strange invisible perfume hits the sense Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast Her people out upon her, and Antony, Enthron'd i...
176 psl. - O, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us. O, now you weep ; and, I perceive, you feel The dint of pity : these are gracious drops. Kind souls, what weep you, when you but behold Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look you here, Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors.
172 psl. - Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil, that men do, lives after them ; The good is oft interred with their bones ; So let it be with Caesar.