The Plays of William Shakespeare : Accurately Printed from the Text of the Corrected Copy Left by the Late George Steevens: With a Series of Engravings, from Original Designs of Henry Fuseli, and a Selection of Explanatory and Historical Notes, from the Most Eminent Commentators; a History of the Stage, a Life of Shakespeare, &c. by Alexander Chalmers, Tom 7
F.C. and J. Rivington, 1805
Co mówią ludzie - Napisz recenzję
Nie znaleziono żadnych recenzji w standardowych lokalizacjach.
Inne wydania - Wyświetl wszystko
Achilles Agam Agamemnon Ajax Anne Antenor bear blood brother Buck Buckingham Calchas cardinal Cate Catesby Cham Clar Clarence Cres Cressida Crom curse dear death Deiphobus Diomed Diomedes doth Duch duke Edward Eliz Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair Farewell father fear fool friends Gent gentle give Gloster grace Grecian Greeks hand Hast hath hear heart heaven Hect Hector Helen holy honour i'the Johnson Kath King Richard king's kiss lady live look lord Lord Chamberlain lord Hastings madam means Menelaus Murd Nest Nestor never night noble Pandarus Patr Patroclus peace pray Priam prince queen Rich Richmond SCENE Shakspeare Sir Thomas Lovell soul speak Stan Stanley sweet sword tell tent thee Ther there's Thersites thou art to-morrow tongue Troilus Troilus and Cressida Trojan Troy trumpet truth Ulyss uncle unto word
Strona 6 - 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 ; — 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...
Strona 35 - All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea ; Some lay in dead men's skulls ; and in those holes Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept (As 'twere in scorn of eyes, ) reflecting gems, That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.
Strona 226 - 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...
Strona 34 - I have pass'da miserable night, So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights, That, as I am a Christian faithful man, I would not spend another such a night, Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days, — So full of dismal terror was the time ! Brak.
Strona 233 - 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 36 - With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise, I trembling wak'd, and, for a season after, Could not believe but that I was in hell, — Such terrible impression made my dream.
Strona 343 - I do not strain at the position, — It is familiar, — but at the author's drift : Who, in his circumstance, expressly proves, That no man is the lord of any thing, (Though in and of him there be much consisting, ) Till he communicate his parts to others...
Strona 6 - 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 225 - O, my lord, Must I then leave you ? must i needs forego So good, so noble, and so true a master ? Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron, With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord. — The king shall have my service ; but my prayers For ever, and for ever, shall be yours.
Strona 222 - Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! This is the state of man ; to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him : The third day comes a frost, a killing frost ; And,— when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do.