The works of William Shakespeare, the text revised by A. Dyce (Google eBook)

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1865
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Page 660 - I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts ; I am no orator, as Brutus is ; But as you know me all, a plain blunt man. That love my friend ; and that they know full well That gave me public leave to speak of him.
Page 632 - I have not slept. Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream: The genius, and the mortal instruments, Are then in council; and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection.
Page 658 - But yesterday the word of Caesar might Have stood against the world ; now lies he there, And none so poor to do him reverence.
Page 673 - There is a tide in the affairs of men Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat; And we must take the current when it serves, Or lose our ventures.
Page 433 - ROmeo; and, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine, That all the world will be in love with night, And pay no worship to the garish sun.
Page 621 - Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world, Like a Colossus ; and we petty men Walk under his huge legs, and peep about To find ourselves dishonourable graves.
Page 657 - Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; . And, sure, he is an honourable man. I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, But here I am to speak what I do know. You all did love him once, not without cause ; What cause withholds you then to mourn for him...
Page 660 - Caesar loved him! This was the most unkindest cut of all; For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, Ingratitude, more strong than traitors
Page 442 - 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.
Page 410 - But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks! It is the east, and Juliet is the sun ! — Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid art far more fair than she...

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