Tragedy of Romeo & Juliet

Voorkant
J.M. Dent and Company, 1897 - 158 pagina's
Provides the text of the play, accompanied by notes and an introduction. Also includes a section of study questions and a brief biography of Shakespeare.
 

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Pagina 3 - Love's not Time's Fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come ; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
Pagina 60 - Romeo; and, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night, And pay no worship to the garish sun.
Pagina 30 - What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O, be some other name ! What's in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, Retain that dear perfection which he owes Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, And for thy. name, which is no part of thee, Take all myself.
Pagina 33 - My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite.
Pagina 29 - O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head, As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him, When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds And sails upon the bosom of the air.
Pagina 77 - It is, it is: hie hence, be gone, away! It is the lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps.
Pagina 28 - But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks ? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun ! Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon...
Pagina 10 - Here's much to do with hate, but more with love. Why, then, O brawling love ! O loving hate ! O any thing, of nothing first create ! O heavy lightness, serious vanity! Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms ! Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is ! This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
Pagina 76 - Wilt thou be gone ? it is not yet near day. It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree. Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

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