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 6–10 iš 79
1558 psl.
... fpeak . But in this troublous time what's to be done ? Shall we go throw away our Coats of Steel , And wrap our Bodies in black mourning Gowns , Numb'ring our Ave Maries with our Beads . Or fhall we on the Helmets of our Foes , Tell ...
... fpeak . But in this troublous time what's to be done ? Shall we go throw away our Coats of Steel , And wrap our Bodies in black mourning Gowns , Numb'ring our Ave Maries with our Beads . Or fhall we on the Helmets of our Foes , Tell ...
1562 psl.
... fpeak . Clif . Ay , Crook - back , here I ftand to answer thee , Or any he , the proudeft of thy fort . Rich . ' Twas you that kill'd young Rutland , was it not ? Clif . Ay , and old York , and yet not fatisfy'd . Rich . For God's fake ...
... fpeak . Clif . Ay , Crook - back , here I ftand to answer thee , Or any he , the proudeft of thy fort . Rich . ' Twas you that kill'd young Rutland , was it not ? Clif . Ay , and old York , and yet not fatisfy'd . Rich . For God's fake ...
1563 psl.
... fpeak . Clif . My Liege , the Wound that bred this Meeting here Cannot be cur'd by Words , therefore be still . Rich . Then , Execution , re - unfheath thy Sword : By him that made us all , I am refolv'd That Clifford's Manhood lyes ...
... fpeak . Clif . My Liege , the Wound that bred this Meeting here Cannot be cur'd by Words , therefore be still . Rich . Then , Execution , re - unfheath thy Sword : By him that made us all , I am refolv'd That Clifford's Manhood lyes ...
1571 psl.
... fpeak the word , Your Brother Richard mark'd him for the Grave ; And where foe'er he is , he's furely dead . [ Clifford groans . Rich . Whofe Soul is that , which takes her heavy leave ? A deadly groan , like Life and Death's departing ...
... fpeak the word , Your Brother Richard mark'd him for the Grave ; And where foe'er he is , he's furely dead . [ Clifford groans . Rich . Whofe Soul is that , which takes her heavy leave ? A deadly groan , like Life and Death's departing ...
1574 psl.
... fpeak no more : Whiles Warwick tells his Title , fmooths the wrong , Inferreth Arguments of mighty ftrength , And in conclufion wins the King from her , With promife of his Sifter , and what else , To ftrengthen and fupport King ...
... fpeak no more : Whiles Warwick tells his Title , fmooths the wrong , Inferreth Arguments of mighty ftrength , And in conclufion wins the King from her , With promife of his Sifter , and what else , To ftrengthen and fupport King ...
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.