The Works of Shakespeare: in Eight Volumes, 8 tomasH. Woodfall, 1767 |
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165 psl.
... whose bourne ( 35 ) ( 35 ) That undiscover'd country , from whose bourne No No traveller returns . ] As fome fuperficial criticks have , without the least scruple , accufed the Poet of forgetfulness and felf . contradiction from this ...
... whose bourne ( 35 ) ( 35 ) That undiscover'd country , from whose bourne No No traveller returns . ] As fome fuperficial criticks have , without the least scruple , accufed the Poet of forgetfulness and felf . contradiction from this ...
173 psl.
... whose epitaph is , For ob , for ob , the hobby - horse is forgot . Hautboys plays . The dumb fhew enters . ( 38 ) Enter a Duke and Dutchess , with regal Coronet !, very lovingly ; the Dutchess embracing him , and he her . She kneels ...
... whose epitaph is , For ob , for ob , the hobby - horse is forgot . Hautboys plays . The dumb fhew enters . ( 38 ) Enter a Duke and Dutchess , with regal Coronet !, very lovingly ; the Dutchess embracing him , and he her . She kneels ...
199 psl.
... WHOSE , without any preceding fubftantive to which it can refer , it is as plain that the latter part of the hemiftich fell out in the printing , or was fo blind in the manufcr pt as not to he guess'd at , and therefore neceffarily came ...
... WHOSE , without any preceding fubftantive to which it can refer , it is as plain that the latter part of the hemiftich fell out in the printing , or was fo blind in the manufcr pt as not to he guess'd at , and therefore neceffarily came ...
228 psl.
... Whose wicked deed thy moft ingenious fenfe Depriv'd thee of ! Hold off the earth awhile , ' Till I have caught her once more in my arms ; [ Laertes leaps into the Grave , Now pile your duft upon the quick and dead , ' Till of this flat ...
... Whose wicked deed thy moft ingenious fenfe Depriv'd thee of ! Hold off the earth awhile , ' Till I have caught her once more in my arms ; [ Laertes leaps into the Grave , Now pile your duft upon the quick and dead , ' Till of this flat ...
244 psl.
... whose voice will draw no more . ] This is the reading of the old quarto's , but certainly a mistaken one . We fay , a man will no more draw breath ; but that a man's voice will draw no more , is , I believe , an expreffion without any ...
... whose voice will draw no more . ] This is the reading of the old quarto's , but certainly a mistaken one . We fay , a man will no more draw breath ; but that a man's voice will draw no more , is , I believe , an expreffion without any ...
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againſt becauſe Benvolio Brabantio Caffio call'd Capulet Clown Cyprus dead death Defdemona Desdemona doft doth Duke Emil Enter ev'n Exeunt Exit eyes faid fame father fatire feems feen fenfe fhall fhew fhould flain fleep fome Fortinbras foul fpeak fpirit Friar Lawrence ftand ftill fuch fure fweet fword gentleman give Hamlet hath heart heav'n himſelf honeft Horatio houſe huſband Iago is't itſelf Juliet King lady Laer Laertes lago loft Lord married Mercutio moft Moor moſt muft muſt myſelf night Nurfe Ophelia Othello paffage Perfon play pleaſe Poet Polonius pray purpoſe Quarto Queen reafon Rodorigo Romeo ſay Shakespeare ſhall ſhe ſpeak tell thee thefe there's theſe thing thofe thou art to-night Tybalt uſe villain whofe wife William Shakespeare word yourſelf
Populiarios ištraukos
231 psl. - tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now ; if it be not now, yet it will come : the readiness is all : Since no man, of aught he leaves, knows, what is't to leave betimes ?
17 psl. - Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers. And in this state she gallops night by night Through lovers...
123 psl. - I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul ; freeze thy young blood ; Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres...
177 psl. - Tis now the very witching time of night When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world. Now could I drink hot blood, And do such bitter business as the day Would quake to look on.
185 psl. - Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes? You cannot call it love, for at your age The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble, And waits upon the judgment; and what judgment Would step from this to this?
221 psl. - I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come ; make her laugh at that. Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing. Hor. What's that, my lord? Ham. Dost thou think Alexander looked o' this fashion i
160 psl. - As made the things more rich; their perfume lost, Take these again; for to the noble mind Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.
261 psl. - Their dearest action in the tented field, And little of this great world can I speak, More than pertains to feats of broil and battle, And therefore little shall I grace my cause In speaking for myself.
31 psl. - Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone: And yet no further than a wanton's bird; Who lets it hop a little from her hand, Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, And with a silk thread plucks it back again, So loving-jealous of his liberty.
26 psl. - Would through the airy region stream so bright, That birds would sing, and think it were not night. See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek ! Jul.