The Plays of William Shakspeare... (Google eBook)

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Vernor, 1800
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Page 134 - Methinks I should know you, and know this man; Yet I am doubtful: for I am mainly ignorant What place this is; and all the skill I have Remembers not these garments; nor I know not Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me; For, as I am a man, I think this lady To be my child Cordelia.
Page 120 - tis, to cast one's eyes so low ! The crows and choughs that wing the midway air Show scarce so gross as beetles : half way down Hangs one that gathers samphire, dreadful trade ! Methinks he seems no bigger than his head : The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, Appear like mice ; and yond...
Page 19 - Why have my sisters husbands, if they say They love you all ? Haply, when I shall wed, That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry Half my love with him, half my care and duty : Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters, To love my father all.
Page 76 - Thou art a lady; If only to go warm were gorgeous, Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st, Which scarcely keeps thee warm.
Page 126 - Through tatterd clothes small vices do appear; Robes, and furr'd gowns, hide all. Plate sin with gold, And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks: Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw doth pierce it.
Page 28 - Thou, nature, art my goddess ; to thy law My services are bound. Wherefore should I Stand in the plague of custom, and permit The curiosity of nations to deprive me, For that I am some twelve or fourteen moonshines Lag of a brother ? Why bastard...
Page 16 - Lear. Meantime we shall express our darker purpose. Give me the map there. Know that we "have divided In three, our kingdom ; and 'tis our fast intent To shake all cares and business from our age ; Conferring them on younger strengths, while we Unburdened crawl toward death. Our son of Cornwall, And you, our no less loving son of Albany, We have this hour a constant will to publish Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife May be prevented now.
Page 133 - Mine enemy's dog, Though he had bit me, should have stood that night Against my fire ; and wast thou fain, poor father, To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn, In short and musty straw? Alack, alack!
Page 114 - Not to a rage: patience and sorrow strove Who should express her goodliest. You have seen Sunshine and rain at once: her smiles and tears Were like a better day: Those happy smiles, That play'd on her ripe lip, seem'd not to know What guests were in her eyes ; which parted thence, As pearls from diamonds dropp'd.
Page 51 - Lear. O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven ! Keep me in temper : I would not be mad ! Enter Gentleman.

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