The Works of William Shakespeare: From the Text of the Rev. Alexander Dyce's Fourth Edition, with an Arrangement of His Glossary, Volume 9Mershon Company, 1885 |
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Pagina 77
... thou for thy good morrow ; When thou art Timon's dog , and these knaves honest . Tim . Why dost thou call them knaves ? thou know'st them not . Apem . Are they not Athenians ? Tim . Yes . Apem . Then I repent not . Jew . You know me ...
... thou for thy good morrow ; When thou art Timon's dog , and these knaves honest . Tim . Why dost thou call them knaves ? thou know'st them not . Apem . Are they not Athenians ? Tim . Yes . Apem . Then I repent not . Jew . You know me ...
Pagina 78
... Thou liest . Poet . Art not one ? Apem . Yes . Poet . Then I lie not . Apem . Art not a poet ? Poet . Yes . Apem . Then thou liest : look in thy last work , where thou hast feigned him a worthy fellow . Poet . That's not feigned , - he ...
... Thou liest . Poet . Art not one ? Apem . Yes . Poet . Then I lie not . Apem . Art not a poet ? Poet . Yes . Apem . Then thou liest : look in thy last work , where thou hast feigned him a worthy fellow . Poet . That's not feigned , - he ...
Pagina 79
... Thou art going to Lord Timon's feast ? Apem . Ay , to see meat fill knaves , and wine heat fools . Sec . Lord . Fare thee well , fare thee well . Apem . Thou art a fool to bid me farewell twice . Sec . Lord . Why , Apemantus ? Apem ...
... Thou art going to Lord Timon's feast ? Apem . Ay , to see meat fill knaves , and wine heat fools . Sec . Lord . Fare thee well , fare thee well . Apem . Thou art a fool to bid me farewell twice . Sec . Lord . Why , Apemantus ? Apem ...
Pagina 86
... Thou art a soldier , therefore seldom rich ; It comes in charity to thee ; for all thy living Is ' mongst the dead ; and all the lands thou hast Lie in a pitch'd field . Alcib . Ay , defil'd land , my lord . First Lord . We are so ...
... Thou art a soldier , therefore seldom rich ; It comes in charity to thee ; for all thy living Is ' mongst the dead ; and all the lands thou hast Lie in a pitch'd field . Alcib . Ay , defil'd land , my lord . First Lord . We are so ...
Pagina 91
... thou art hanged . This is to Lord Timon ; this to Alci- biades . Go ; thou wast born a bastard , and thou'lt die a bawd . Page . Thou wast whelped a dog , and thou shalt fam- ish , a dog's death . Answer not , I am gone . Apem . E'en so ...
... thou art hanged . This is to Lord Timon ; this to Alci- biades . Go ; thou wast born a bastard , and thou'lt die a bawd . Page . Thou wast whelped a dog , and thou shalt fam- ish , a dog's death . Answer not , I am gone . Apem . E'en so ...
Veelvoorkomende woorden en zinsdelen
AGRIPPA Alcib Alcibiades Alexas Apem Apemantus Athens Bawd better Boult Cæs Cæsar Char Charmian Cleo CLEON Cleopatra daughter dead death Dionyza doth Egypt Enobarbus Enter ANTONY Eros Exeunt Exit eyes farewell fear feast Fish Flav fool for't fortune friends Fulvia gentlemen give gods gold gone hath hear heart heaven Helicanus hither honest honor Iras king knight lady Launce Lepidus look Lord Timon Lucullus Lysimachus madam Marina Mark Antony master Mess Messenger mistress Mytilene ne'er never noble Octa Octavia Pain Parthia Pentapolis Pericles Poet Pompey pray prince prithee Proculeius Proteus queen Re-enter SCENE Serv servant Silvia SIMONIDES Sold soldier speak Speed sword tell Thai Thaisa Tharsus thee There's thine thou art thou hast Thurio thyself Tyre unto Valentine Ventidius What's wilt wouldst
Populaire passages
Pagina 230 - Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have Immortal longings in me: Now no more The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip: — Yare, yare, good Iras; quick. — Methinks, I hear Antony call; I see him rouse himself To praise my noble act; I hear him mock The luck of Caesar, which the gods give men To excuse their after wrath: Husband, I come: Now to that name my courage prove my title ! I am fire, and air; my other elements I give to baser life.
Pagina 129 - Come not to me again : but say to Athens, Timon hath made his everlasting mansion Upon the beached verge of the salt flood ; Whom once a day with his embossed froth The turbulent surge shall cover ; thither come, And let my grave-stone be your oracle.
Pagina 218 - No more, but e'en a woman, and commanded By such poor passion as the maid that milks And does the meanest chares. It were for me To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods ; To tell them that this world did equal theirs Till they had stol'n our jewel.
Pagina 357 - Who is Silvia ? what is she, That all our swains commend her ? Holy, fair, and wise is she ; The heaven such grace did lend her, That she might admired be. Is she kind, as she is fair, For beauty lives with kindness ? Love doth to her eyes repair, To help him of his blindness ; And, being help'd, inhabits there. Then to Silvia let us sing, That Silvia is excelling ; She excels each mortal thing, Upon the dull earth dwelling : To her let us garlands bring.
Pagina 160 - The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burn'd on the water : the poop was beaten gold ; Purple the sails, and so perfumed, that The winds were love-sick with them: the oars were silver; Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water, which they beat, to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes.
Pagina 224 - 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...
Pagina 325 - O, how this spring of love resembleth The uncertain glory of an April day, Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, And by and by a cloud takes all away ! He-enter PANTHINO.
Pagina 218 - 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.
Pagina 219 - s out ! — Good sirs, take heart : — We'll bury him ; and then, what's brave, what's noble, Let's do it after the high Roman fashion, And make death proud to take us.
Pagina 161 - 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.