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_Exit Antigonus Autolycus Bertram beseech better Bohemia Camillo Clown Collier's folio corruption Count daughter dear dost Duke Enter Exeunt Exit eyes father fool Gent gentleman give hand hath hear heart Heaven Helena Hermione honest honour Illyria King knave lady Lafeu Leon Leontes lord Love's Labour's Lost Love's Labour's Won Madam maid Malvolio marry means Measure for Measure misprint mistress morris dance Narbon never night noble Note Olivia original Pandosto Parolles passage Paul Paulina play Polixenes pr'ythee pray Queen Rousillon Scene sense Shakespeare's Shakespeare's day Shep shew Sicilia Sir Andrew Sir Andrew Ague-cheek Sir Toby Sir Toby Belch song speak speech Steevens swear sweet tell thee there's thine thing thou art thought Twelfth Night wife Winter's Tale word youth
Page 155 - If music be the food of love, play on. Give me excess of it ; that surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again ; — it had a dying fall ( O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing, and giving odour.
Page 41 - They say miracles are past ; and we have our philosophical persons to make modern and familiar, things supernatural and causeless. Hence is it that we make trifles of terrors, ensconcing ourselves into seeming knowledge, when we should submit ourselves to an unknown fear.
Page 179 - O mistress mine, where are you roaming? O stay and hear; your true love's coming, That can sing both high and low. Trip no further, pretty sweeting; Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man's son doth know.
Page 82 - 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 330 - When daffodils begin to peer, With heigh! the doxy over the dale, Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year, For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale. The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing! Doth set my pugging tooth on edge, For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. The lark, that tirra-lirra chants, With heigh! with heigh! the thrush and the jay, Are summer songs for me and my aunts, While we lie tumbling in the hay.
Page 324 - I would, there were no age between ten and three-and-twenty ; or that youth would sleep out the rest: for there is nothing in the between but getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, fighting.
Page 186 - Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid ; Fly away, fly away, breath ; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it ! My part of death, no one so true Did share it.
Page 338 - 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 oxlips and The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds, The flower-de-luce being one!
Page 20 - Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to heaven : the fated sky Gives us free scope ; only, doth backward pull Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull.