The Plays and Poems of William Shakspeare, Tom 11

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R. C. and J. Rivington, 1821
 

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Strona 106 - Amen" the other: As they had seen me with these hangman's hands. Listening their fear, I could not say "Amen" When they did say "God bless us!
Strona 125 - Had I but died an hour before this chance, I had liv'da blessed time ; for, from this instant, • There's nothing serious in mortality : All is but toys : renown, and grace, is dead ; The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of.
Strona 95 - Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee : I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Strona 242 - The thane of Fife had a wife; where is she now? What! will these hands ne'er be clean? No more o' that, my lord, no more o' that: you mar all with this starting.
Strona 242 - To bed, to bed; there's knocking at the gate. Come, come, come, come, give me your hand ; What's done, cannot be undone : To bed, to bed, to bed.
Strona 153 - Duncan is in his grave ; After life's fitful fever he sleeps well ; Treason has done his worst : nor steel, nor poison. Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, Can touch him further.
Strona 59 - Yet do I fear thy nature ; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way; thou wouldst be great, Art not without ambition, but without The illness should attend it; what thou wouldst highly That...
Strona 40 - Are ye fantastical, or that indeed Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner You greet with present grace, and great prediction Of noble having, and of royal hope, That he seems rapt withal; to me you speak not: If you can look into the seeds of time, And say, which grain will grow, and which will not, Speak then to me, who neither beg, nor fear, Your favours, nor your hate.
Strona 68 - Your face, my thane, is as a book, where men May read strange matters : — To beguile the time, Look like the time ; bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue : look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under it.
Strona 46 - tis strange : And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths ; Win us with honest trifles, to betray us In deepest consequence Cousins, a word, . I pray you.

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