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art thou Aumerle Baling Bast beseech Bianca Bion blood Bohemia Bolingbroke breath Camillo Count cousin daughter dear death doth Duke duke of Hereford Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair faith Farewell father Faulconbridge fear fool France friends Gaunt Gent gentle gentleman give Gremio grief hand hath hear heart heaven hither honour Hortensio Hubert Illyria John Kate Kath Katharine king knave lady Leon liege live look lord Lucentio Madam maid majesty Malvolio marry master mistress never noble Northumberland Padua pardon peace Petruchio Pisa pray prince queen Re-enter Rich Rousillon SCENE Servant shame Shep Sicilia signior Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK Sir Toby Sir TOBY BELCH Sirrah soul speak swear sweet tell thee thine thing thou art thou hast tongue Tranio unto wife word
Page 476 - Richard : no man cried , God save him ; No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home; But dust was thrown upon his sacred head , Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off, His face still combating with tears and smiles, The badges of his grief and patience, That had not God , for some strong purpose , steel'd The hearts of men , they must perforce have melted , And barbarism itself have pitied him.
Page 288 - But nature makes that mean: so, o'er that art, Which you say adds to nature, is an art That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock, And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of nobler race: this is an art Which does mend nature, — change it rather; but The art itself is nature.
Page 190 - A blank, my lord. She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek : she pin'd in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat like Patience on a monument, Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed ? We men may say more, swear more ; but indeed Our shows are more than will, for still we prove Much in our vows, but little in our love. Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy ? Vio.
Page 137 - The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together: our virtues would be proud, if our faults whipped them not, and our crimes would despair, if they were not cherished by our virtues.
Page 457 - My figur'd goblets for a dish of wood, My sceptre for a palmer's walking-staff, My subjects for a pair of carved saints, And my large kingdom for a little grave, A little little grave, an obscure grave : Or I'll be buried in the king's highway, Some way of common trade, where subjects...
Page 289 - O Proserpina, For the flowers now, that frighted thou let'st fall From Dis's waggon ! daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty ; violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath ; pale primroses, That die unmarried, ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength — a malady Most incident to maids ; bold...