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answer arms bear blood breath bring brother Buck Catesby comes dead dear death doth Dromio Duke England Enter Exeunt Exit eyes face fair father Faul fear follow France friends GENTLEMEN give Glost gone grace Graved grief Hamlet hand hast hath head hear heart Heaven hold hope Horatio hour Hubert husband I'll John Juliet keep King Lady Laer leave live look lord madam majesty marry master means meet mother never night Nurse once peace play poor pray Prince Queen Romeo SCENE sleep soul speak stand Stanley stay sweet tears tell thank thee thine thing thou thou art thought tongue true Trumpets wife York young
Strona 18 - 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?
Strona 32 - What a piece of work is man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculties! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel ! in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? man delights not me; no, nor woman neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so.
Strona 20 - 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, Thy knotted and combined locks to part And each particular hair to stand on end, Like quills upon the fretful porcupine : But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood.
Strona 45 - No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp, And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear? Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice And could of men distinguish, her election Hath seal'd thee for herself...
Strona 79 - No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him thither with modesty enough, and likelihood to lead it; as thus: Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth into dust; the dust is earth; of earth we make loam, and why of that loam, whereto he was converted, might they not stop a beer-barrel?
Strona 13 - I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them...
Strona 40 - To die, to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream; ay, there's the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause: there's the respect...
Strona 18 - But to my mind, — though I am native here, And to the manner born, — it is a custom More honour'd in the breach than the observance.