Co mówią ludzie - Napisz recenzję
Nie znaleziono żadnych recenzji w standardowych lokalizacjach.
Inne wydania - Wyświetl wszystko
Anne appear authors bear Bishop bless brought Buck called Cardinal cause Chamber comes conscience court Cran Cranmer Crom Cromwell dare Duke England Enter Exeunt fair fall father fear Fletcher Folio follow four friends Gent give given Grace hand hath head hear heart heaven held Henry Henry VIII highness Holinshed Holinshed 1587 honour hope hour Katharine keep King king's lady late leave letter live Lord Lovell madam master mean mind never noble Norfolk once peace person play pleasure poor pray present princes Queen royal scene sent Shakespeare Sir Thomas soul speak stage stand Suffolk taken tell thank thee There's thou tongue true truth wish Wolsey woman
Strona 80 - Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me, Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. 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...
Strona 116 - She shall be lov'd and fear'd: her own shall bless her; Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, And hang their heads with sorrow. Good grows with her. In her days every man shall eat in safety, Under his own vine, what he plants, and sing The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours. God shall be truly known; and those about her From her shall read the perfect ways of honour, And by those claim their greatness, not by blood.
Strona 81 - Pr'ythee, lead me in : There take an inventory of all I have, To the last penny : 'tis the king's : my robe, And my integrity to heaven, is all I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell, Had I but served my God with half the zeal I served my king, he would not in mine age Have left me naked to mine enemies.
Strona 89 - Noble madam, Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues We write in water. May it please your highness To hear me speak his good now ? Kath.
Strona 88 - 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...
Strona 77 - 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.
Strona 78 - 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.
Strona 80 - Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition: By that sin fell the angels ; how can man, then, The image of his Maker, hope to win by it ? Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee; Corruption wins not more than honesty.
Strona 89 - Lofty, and sour, to them that lov"d him not; But to those men that sought him, sweet as summer: And though he were unsatisfied in getting, (Which was a sin) yet in bestowing, madam, He was most princely.