Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of DenmarkHarper, 1889 - 285 |
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Strona 23
... sweet music which comes floating by us on the wings of night and silence , and which we rather feel than hear- like the exhalation of the violet dying even upon the sense it charms - like the snow - flake dissolved in air before it has ...
... sweet music which comes floating by us on the wings of night and silence , and which we rather feel than hear- like the exhalation of the violet dying even upon the sense it charms - like the snow - flake dissolved in air before it has ...
Strona 26
... sweet , not lasting , The perfume and suppliance of a minute- No more ! " she replies with a kind of half consciousness- " No more but so ? Laertes . Think it no more . " He concludes his admonition with that most beautiful passage , in ...
... sweet , not lasting , The perfume and suppliance of a minute- No more ! " she replies with a kind of half consciousness- " No more but so ? Laertes . Think it no more . " He concludes his admonition with that most beautiful passage , in ...
Strona 28
... sweet mind lies in fragments before us — a pitiful spectacle ! Her wild , rambling fancies ; her aimless , broken speeches ; her quick transitions from gayety to sad- ness each equally purposeless and causeless ; her snatches of old ...
... sweet mind lies in fragments before us — a pitiful spectacle ! Her wild , rambling fancies ; her aimless , broken speeches ; her quick transitions from gayety to sad- ness each equally purposeless and causeless ; her snatches of old ...
Strona 50
... sweet and commendable in your nature , Ham . let , To give these mourning duties to your father : But , you must know , your father lost a father ; That father lost , lost his ; and the survivor bound In filial obligation for some term ...
... sweet and commendable in your nature , Ham . let , To give these mourning duties to your father : But , you must know , your father lost a father ; That father lost , lost his ; and the survivor bound In filial obligation for some term ...
Strona 56
... sweet , not lasting , The perfume and suppliance of a minute ; No more . Ophelia . No more but so ? Laertes . Think it no more ; For nature crescent does not grow alone In thews and bulk , but , as this temple waxes , The inward service ...
... sweet , not lasting , The perfume and suppliance of a minute ; No more . Ophelia . No more but so ? Laertes . Think it no more ; For nature crescent does not grow alone In thews and bulk , but , as this temple waxes , The inward service ...
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Kluczowe wyrazy i wyrażenia
1st quarto accent allusion Bernardo blood Caldecott character Chaucer Clown Coleridge Coll Cotgrave Cymb Dane dead dear death deed Delius Denmark Dict doth early eds earth edition Elsinore euphuism Exeunt Exit explains eyes father fear folio reading followed Fortinbras friends gentleman Gertrude Ghost give Hamlet hast hath hear heart heaven honour Horatio John Johnson Julius Cæsar King king of Denmark Laertes Lear look Macb madness Malone Marcellus means modern eds mother murther Nares nature night noun o'er omitted Ophelia Osric passage passion play players poison'd Polonius pray prince Pyrrhus quarto reading Queen remarks revenge Reynaldo Rich Rosencrantz and Guildenstern says SCENE Schmidt sense Shakespeare Shakspere Sonn soul speak speech spirit Steevens quotes sweet sword tell Temp thee Theo thing thou thought tongue verb Warb word youth
Popularne fragmenty
Strona 110 - Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me! You would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass; and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ, yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.
Strona 64 - I could a tale unfold whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood...
Strona 113 - In the corrupted currents of this world Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice, And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself Buys out the law : but 'tis not so above ; There is no shuffling, there the action lies In his true nature, and we ourselves compell'd Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults To give in evidence.
Strona 50 - Nor the dejected haviour of the visage, Together with all forms, moods, shows of grief, That can denote me truly : these, indeed, seem, For they are actions that a man might play ; But I have that within, which passeth show, These but the trappings and the suits of woe.
Strona 62 - What may this mean, That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, : . Making night hideous ; and we fools of nature So horridly to shake our disposition With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls ? Say, why is this ? wherefore ? what should we do ? [Ghost beckons Hamlet.
Strona 62 - What if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord, Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff That beetles o'er his base into the sea, And there assume some other horrible form, Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason And draw you into madness? think of it; The very place puts toys of desperation, Without more motive, into every brain That looks so many fathoms to the sea And hears it roar beneath.
Strona 51 - gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God! How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable Seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on't! O fie! 'tis an unweeded garden, That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature Possess it merely.
Strona 56 - Think it no more : For nature, crescent, does not grow alone In thews and bulk; but, as this temple waxes, The inward service of the mind and soul Grows wide withal.
Strona 96 - With a bare bodkin; who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, The undiscover'd country from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all...
Strona 73 - Pale as his shirt; his knees knocking each other; And with a look so piteous in purport, As if he had been loosed out of hell, To speak of horrors, — he comes before me.