The Man Shakespeare and His Tragic Life-story

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Mitchell Kennerley, 1909 - 422
 

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Strona 24 - Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep" — the innocent sleep, Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care; The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great Nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast — Lady M. What do you mean? Macb. Still it cried "Sleep no more!
Strona 69 - All murder'd ; for within the hollow crown, That rounds the mortal temples of a king, Keeps Death his court, and there the antic sits, Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp...
Strona 20 - Besides, this Duncan Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking-off...
Strona 346 - This music crept by me upon the waters, Allaying both their fury and my passion With its sweet air : thence I have follow'd it, Or it hath drawn me rather.
Strona 330 - I'll kneel down, And ask of thee forgiveness : so we'll live, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues Talk of court news ; and we'll talk with them too, Who loses and who wins ; who's in, who's out ; And take...
Strona 118 - Tis but an hour ago since it was nine, And after one hour more 'twill be eleven ; And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot ; And thereby hangs a tale.
Strona 182 - How use doth breed a habit in a man ! This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods, I better brook than flourishing peopled towns : Here can I sit alone, unseen of any, And, to the nightingale's complaining notes, Tune my distresses, and record
Strona 3 - OTHERS abide our question. Thou art free. We ask and ask — Thou smilest and art still, Out-topping knowledge. For the loftiest hill, Who to the stars uncrowns his majesty, Planting his steadfast footsteps in the sea, Making the heaven of heavens his dwelling-place, Spares but the cloudy border of his base To the...
Strona 327 - Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you From seasons such as these ? O, I have ta'en Too little care of this ! Take physic, pomp ; Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, That thou mayst shake the superflux to them, And show the heavens more just.
Strona 24 - But wherefore could not I pronounce, Amen ? I had most need of blessing, and Amen stuck in my throat.

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