Shakespeare

Voorkant
Duffield, 1922 - 377 pagina's

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Pagina 172 - This royal throne of kings, this scept'red isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea...
Pagina 136 - Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least ; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate; For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
Pagina 141 - So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men, And Death once dead, there's no more dying then.
Pagina 112 - Time's glory is to calm contending kings, To unmask falsehood, and bring truth to light, To stamp the seal of time in aged things, To wake the morn, and sentinel the night, To wrong the wronger till he render right ; To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours, And smear with dust their glittering golden towers : 1 To fill with worm-holes stately monuments, To feed oblivion with decay of things, To blot old books, and alter their contents, To pluck the quills from ancient ravens...
Pagina 125 - That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou see'st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west; Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
Pagina 127 - When in the chronicle of wasted time I see descriptions of the fairest wights ; And beauty making beautiful old rhyme, In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights ; — Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, I see their antique pen would have express'd Even such a beauty as you master now.
Pagina 97 - Soul of the age! The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage! My Shakespeare, rise! I will not lodge thee by Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie A little further, to make thee a room: Thou are a monument without a tomb, And art alive still while thy book doth live And we have wits to read and praise to give.
Pagina 270 - Pray, do not mock me : I am a very foolish fond old man, Fourscore and upward, not an hour more or less ; And, to deal plainly, I fear I am not in my perfect mind. Methinks I should know you, and know this man ; Yet I am doubtful : for I am mainly ignorant What place this is ; and all the skill I have Remembers not these garments ; nor I know not Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me ; For, as I am a man, I think this lady To be my child Cordelia.
Pagina 298 - Alas ! alas ! Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once; And He that might the vantage best have took, Found out the remedy: how would you be, If He, which is the top of judgment, should But judge you as you are ? O, think on that ; And mercy then will breathe within your lips, Like man new made.
Pagina 8 - In such a night Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew And saw the lion's shadow ere himself And ran dismay'd away. Lor. In such a night Stood Dido with a willow in her hand Upon the wild sea banks and waft her love To come again to Carthage.

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