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Achilles Agam Ajax Anne arms bear better blood bring brother Buck Buckingham cardinal cause Clar Clarence comes Cres crown dead death deed doth duke Edward Eliz Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair fall father fear fight follow friends Gent gentle give grace hand hast hath head hear heart heaven Hector Henry highness hold honour hope hour I'll keep king lady leave live look lord Madam master mean mind mother never night noble once peace poor pray prince queen rest Rich Richard Rome SCENE sons sorrow soul speak stand stay sweet sword tears tell thank thee Ther thine thing thou thought Titus tongue Troilus Troy true Ulyss unto Warwick York young
Strona 267 - Love thyself last : cherish those hearts that hate thee ; Corruption wins not more than honesty. 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.
Strona 314 - Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil, And posts , like the commandment of a king , Sans check, to good and bad. But when the planets , In evil mixture , to disorder wander , What plagues, and what portents ! what mutiny! What raging of the sea , shaking of earth , Commotion in the winds , frights , changes , horrors , Divert and crack , rend and deracinate The unity and married calm of states...
Strona 92 - But I— that am not shap'd for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass— I— that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph— 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 193 - What! do I fear myself? there's none else by Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I. Is there a murderer here? No. Yes; I am: Then fly: what! from myself? Great reason why; Lest I revenge. What! myself upon myself? Alack! I love myself. Wherefore? for any good That I myself have done unto myself? O! no: alas! I rather hate myself For hateful deeds committed by myself.
Strona 314 - Amidst the other, whose med'cinable eye Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil, And posts, like the commandment of a king, Sans check, to good and bad. But when the planets In evil mixture to disorder wander, What plagues and what portents, what mutiny, What raging of the sea, shaking of earth, Commotion in the winds! Frights, changes, horrors, Divert and crack, rend and deracinate, The unity and married calm of states Quite from their fixture!
Strona 92 - 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; Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun And descant on mine own deformity: And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover. To entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Strona 33 - God ! methinks, it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain ; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run' : How many make the hour full complete, How many hours bring about the day, How many days will finish up the year, How many years a mortal man may live. When this is known, then to divide the times : So many hours must I tend my flock ; So many hours must I take my rest ; So many hours must I contemplate...
Strona 229 - Heaven has an end in all : Yet, you that hear me, This from a dying man receive as certain: Where you are liberal of your loves and counsels, Be sure you be not loose ; for those you make friends, And give your hearts to, when they once perceive The least rub in your fortunes, fall away Like water from ye, never found again But where they mean to sink ye.
Strona 34 - So many years ere I shall shear the fleece: So minutes, hours, days, months, and years, Pass'd over to the end they were created, Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely! Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep, Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy To kings that fear their subjects