The Works of Shakespeare: In Eight Volumes. Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected: with Notes, Explanatory and Critical:H. Lintott, 1740 |
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52 psl.
... dear fon , may bie ; Blefs him at home in peace , whilft I from far His name with zealous fervour fanctifie . His taken labours bid him me forgive ; I , his defpightful Juno , fent him forth From courtly friends , with camping foes to ...
... dear fon , may bie ; Blefs him at home in peace , whilft I from far His name with zealous fervour fanctifie . His taken labours bid him me forgive ; I , his defpightful Juno , fent him forth From courtly friends , with camping foes to ...
62 psl.
... dear , Howe'er repented after . Wid . Now I fee the bottom of your purpose . Hel . You fee it lawful then . It is no more , But that your daughter , ere fhe feems as won , Defires this ring ; appoints him an encounter ; In fine ...
... dear , Howe'er repented after . Wid . Now I fee the bottom of your purpose . Hel . You fee it lawful then . It is no more , But that your daughter , ere fhe feems as won , Defires this ring ; appoints him an encounter ; In fine ...
67 psl.
... Dear , but have no power To give it from me . Dia . Will you not , my Lord ? Ber . It is an Honour ' longing to our House , Bequeathed down from many Ancestors ; Which were the greateft obloquy i'th ' world In me to lose . Dia . Mine ...
... Dear , but have no power To give it from me . Dia . Will you not , my Lord ? Ber . It is an Honour ' longing to our House , Bequeathed down from many Ancestors ; Which were the greateft obloquy i'th ' world In me to lose . Dia . Mine ...
77 psl.
... Dear Dear almost as his life ; which gratitude Through flinty All's well , that Ends well . 77.
... Dear Dear almost as his life ; which gratitude Through flinty All's well , that Ends well . 77.
78 psl.
... Dear almost as his life ; which gratitude Through flinty Tartar's bofom would peep forth , And answer thanks . I duly am inform'd , His Grace is at Marfeilles , to which place We have convenient Convoy ; you must know , I am fuppofed ...
... Dear almost as his life ; which gratitude Through flinty Tartar's bofom would peep forth , And answer thanks . I duly am inform'd , His Grace is at Marfeilles , to which place We have convenient Convoy ; you must know , I am fuppofed ...
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againſt anſwer Antigonus Antipholis blood Bohemia Camillo Conft Count defire doft thou doth Dromio Duke Enter Exeunt Exit eyes faid father Faulc Faulconbridge feems felf felves fent ferve fhall fhame fhew fhould fifter fince firft fome fool foul fpeak France ftand ftill ftir ftrange fuch fure fwear fweet give hand hath heart heav'n himſelf honour houſe i'th Illyria John King King John knave Lady loft Lord lyes Madam mafter Malvolio Marry Melun miſtreſs moft moſt muft muſt myſelf night o'th pleaſe pray prefent purpoſe reaſon ſay SCENE changes ſhall ſhe Shep Sicilia Sir Andrew Ague-cheek Sir Toby ſpeak tell thee thefe there's theſe thine thofe thoſe thou art thouſand underſtand uſe whofe wife worfe
Populiarios ištraukos
70 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.
137 psl. - element,' but the word is over-worn. \Exit. Vio. This fellow is wise enough to play the fool ; And to do that well craves a kind of wit : He must observe their mood on whom he jests, The quality of persons, and the time, And, like the haggard, check at every feather That comes before his eye.
384 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.
295 psl. - But nature makes that mean; so over that art, Which you say adds to nature, is an art That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock, And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of nobler race. This is an art Which does mend nature change it rather; but The art itself is nature.
384 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.
283 psl. - I would, there were no age between ten and three-and-twenty ; or that youth would sleep out the rest: for there is nothing in the between but getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, fighting.
101 psl. - If music be the food of love, play on ; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again ! it had a dying fall : O ! it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour.
419 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.