The Works of William Shakespeare: Tragedies

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Little, Brown and Company, 1861
 

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Strona 27 - We, ignorant of ourselves, Beg often our own harms, which the wise powers Deny -us for our good ; so find we profit, By losing of our prayers.
Strona 37 - ... the silken tackle Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands, That yarely frame the office. From the barge.. A strange invisible perfume hits the sense Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast Her people out upon her; and Antony, Enthron'd in the market-place, did sit alone, Whistling to the air; which, but for vacancy, Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too, And made a gap in nature.
Strona 111 - O, wither'd is the garland of the war, The soldier's pole is fall'n : young boys and girls Are level now with men ; the odds is gone, And there is nothing left remarkable Beneath the visiting moon.
Strona 7 - NAY, but this dotage of our general's O'erflows the measure : those his goodly eyes, That o'er the files and musters of the war Have glow'd like plated Mars, now bend, now turn, The office and devotion of their view Upon a tawny front : his captain's heart, Which in the scuffles of great fights hath burst The buckles on his breast, reneges* all temper; And is become the bellows, and the fan, To cool a gipsy's lust.
Strona 77 - Now I must To the young man send humble treaties, dodge And palter in the shifts of lowness, who With half the bulk o' the world play'd as I pleas'd, Making and marring fortunes.
Strona 119 - His legs bestrid the ocean : his rear'd arm Crested the world : his voice was propertied As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends ; But when he meant to quail and shake the orb, He was as rattling thunder. For his bounty, There was no winter...
Strona 238 - Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, I'll sweeten thy sad grave: Thou shalt not lack The flower, that's like thy face, pale primrose; nor The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, Out-sweeten'd not thy breath...
Strona 37 - Never ; he will not. Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety : other women cloy The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry Where most she satisfies : for vilest things Become themselves in her, that the holy priests Bless her when she is riggish.
Strona 239 - Fear no more the frown o' the great: Thou art past the tyrant's stroke. Care no more to clothe and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak: The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust.
Strona 8 - Let Rome in Tiber melt, and the wide arch Of the rang'd empire fall ! Here is my space. Kingdoms are clay : our dungy earth alike Feeds beast as man: the nobleness of life Is to do thus ; when such a mutual pair [Embracing. And such a twain can do't, in which I bind, On pain of punishment, the world to weet We stand up peerless.