Jahrbuch der Deutschen Shakespeare-Gesellschaft, Volume 23 (Google eBook)

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G. Reimer, 1888
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Page 48 - I have taken note of it ; the age is grown so picked that the toe of the peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier, he galls his kibe.— How long hast thou been a grave-maker?
Page 188 - Come not to me again : but say to Athens, Timon hath made his everlasting mansion Upon the beached verge of the salt flood ; Who once a day with his embossed froth The turbulent surge shall cover : thither come, And let my grave-stone be your oracle.
Page 141 - For time is like a fashionable host That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand, And, with his arms outstretch'd, as he would fly, Grasps in the comer: welcome ever smiles, And farewell goes out sighing.
Page 41 - To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet, To smooth the ice, or add another hue Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, Is wasteful, and ridiculous excess.
Page 141 - For honour travels in a strait so narrow Where one but goes abreast: keep then the path; For emulation hath a thousand sons That one by one pursue: if you give way, Or hedge aside from the direct forthright, Like to an...
Page 33 - Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls : Who steals my purse, steals trash ; 'tis something, nothing ; 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands : But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him, And makes me poor indeed, Oth.
Page 147 - Good friend, for Jesus' sake forbear To dig the dust enclosed here. Blessed be the man that spares these stones And cursed be he that moves my bones.
Page 141 - Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, A great-sized monster of ingratitudes : Those scraps are good deeds past : which are devour'd As fast as they are made, forgot as soon As done...
Page 141 - O'er-run and trampled on: then what they do in present, Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours...
Page 82 - And what thou hast, forget'st. Thou art not certain ; For thy complexion shifts to strange effects, After the moon. If thou art rich, thou art poor ; For, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows, Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey, And death unloads thee.

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