The Works of Shakespeare: In Eight Volumes : Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected, with Notes, Explanatory, and Critical, Volume 8C. Hitch and L. Hawes, J. and R. Tonson, B. Dod, G. Woodfall, J. Rivington, R. Baldwin, T. Longman, S. Crowder and Company, W. Johnson, C. Corbet, T. Lownds, and T. Caslon, 1762 |
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Pagina 32
... seems to require , As glorious to this Sight ; and therefore I have ventured to alter the Text fo , i . e . Thou appeareft over my Head , as glorious to my Eyes , as an An- gel in the Clouds to Mortals that ftare up at him with Admi ...
... seems to require , As glorious to this Sight ; and therefore I have ventured to alter the Text fo , i . e . Thou appeareft over my Head , as glorious to my Eyes , as an An- gel in the Clouds to Mortals that ftare up at him with Admi ...
Pagina 111
... Seems , Madam ? nay , it is ; I know not feems : ' Tis not alone my inky cloak , good mother , Nor customary fuits of folemn black , Nor windy fufpiration of forc'd breath , No , nor the fruitful river in the eye , Nor the dejected ...
... Seems , Madam ? nay , it is ; I know not feems : ' Tis not alone my inky cloak , good mother , Nor customary fuits of folemn black , Nor windy fufpiration of forc'd breath , No , nor the fruitful river in the eye , Nor the dejected ...
Pagina 113
... Seem to me all the ufes of this world ! Fie on't ! oh fie ! ' tis an unweeded garden , That grows to feed ; things rank , and grofs in nature , Poffefs it merely . That it should come to this ! But two months dead ! nay , not fo much ...
... Seem to me all the ufes of this world ! Fie on't ! oh fie ! ' tis an unweeded garden , That grows to feed ; things rank , and grofs in nature , Poffefs it merely . That it should come to this ! But two months dead ! nay , not fo much ...
Pagina 136
... seems , it is as proper to our age To caft beyond ourselves in our opinions , As it is common for the younger fort To lack difcretion . Come ; go we to the King . This must be known ; which being kept clofe , might move More grief to ...
... seems , it is as proper to our age To caft beyond ourselves in our opinions , As it is common for the younger fort To lack difcretion . Come ; go we to the King . This must be known ; which being kept clofe , might move More grief to ...
Pagina 155
... seem in him a kind of joy To hear of it : they are about the court ; And ( as I think ) they have already order This night to play before him . Pol . Tis most true : And he befeech'd me to intreat your Majefties To hear and fee the ...
... seem in him a kind of joy To hear of it : they are about the court ; And ( as I think ) they have already order This night to play before him . Pol . Tis most true : And he befeech'd me to intreat your Majefties To hear and fee the ...
Overige edities - Alles bekijken
The Works of Shakespeare: In Eight Volumes. Collated with the Oldest Copies ... William Shakespeare Volledige weergave - 1740 |
The Works of Shakespeare: In Eight Volumes ; Collated with the ..., Volume 8 William Shakespeare Volledige weergave - 1740 |
Veelvoorkomende woorden en zinsdelen
againſt Benvolio Brabantio Caffio Capulet Clown Cyprus dead dear death Defdemona Denmark doft thou doth Duke Emil Enter ev'n Exeunt Exit eyes faid fair Farewel father feems feen fenfe fhall fhew fhould firft flain fleep fome Fortinbras foul fpeak Friar Lawrence ftand ftill fuch fure fweet fword gentlemen give Hamlet hath hear heart heav'n himſelf honeft Horatio houfe huſband Iago is't itſelf Juliet King lady Laer Laertes lago look Lord Madam Mantua marry Mercutio moft Moor moſt muft murder muſt myſelf night Nurfe Nurſe Ophelia Othello Perfon poifon Polonius pray Quarto Queen reafon reft Rodorigo Romeo SCENE ſhall ſhe ſpeak tell thee thefe there's theſe thing thofe thou art to-night Tybalt uſe villain whofe wife William Shakespeare yourſelf
Populaire passages
Pagina 32 - 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?
Pagina 190 - What is a man, If his chief good and market of his time Be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more. Sure he that made us with such large discourse, Looking before and after, gave us not That capability and god-like reason To fust in us unus'd.
Pagina 251 - That I did love the Moor to live with him, My downright violence and storm of fortunes May trumpet to the world ; my heart's subdued Even to the very quality of my lord : I saw Othello's visage in his mind ; And to his honours, and his valiant parts, Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate.
Pagina 210 - I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come ; make her laugh at that. Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing. Hor. What's that, my lord? Ham. Dost thou think Alexander looked o' this fashion i
Pagina 114 - ... uncle, My father's brother, but no more like my father Than I to Hercules: within a month, Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears Had left the flushing in her galled eyes, She married.
Pagina 175 - In the corrupted currents of this world Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice; And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself Buys out the law. But 'tis not...
Pagina 160 - Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue : but if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines.
Pagina 120 - Are most select and generous, chief in that. Neither a borrower nor a lender be; For loan oft loses both itself and friend, And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
Pagina 66 - It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale ; look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east. Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops; I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
Pagina 36 - Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone: And yet no further than a wanton's bird; Who lets it hop a little from her hand, Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, And with a silk thread plucks it back again, So loving-jealous of his liberty.