Shakespeare restored: or, A specimen of many errors, as well commited, and unamended, by Mr. Pope in his late edition of this poet (Google eBook)

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Printed for R. Francklin, J. Woodman and D. Lyon, and C. Davis, 1726 - Drama - 194 pages
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Page 45 - I could a tale unfold whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their...
Page 17 - God! How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable, Seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on't! Ah, fie! 'tis an unweeded garden, That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature Possess it merely.
Page 182 - Dost thou come here to whine ? To outface me with leaping in her grave ? Be buried quick with her, and so will I : And, if thou prate of mountains, let them throw Millions of acres on us, till our ground, Singeing his pate against the burning zone, Make Ossa like a wart ! Nay, an thou'lt mouth, I'll rant as well as thou.
Page 30 - That for some vicious mole of nature in them, As, in their birth— wherein they are not guilty, Since nature cannot choose his origin— By the o'ergrowth of some complexion, Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason...
Page 102 - ... between penetration and felicity, he hits upon that particular point on which the bent of each argument turns or the force of each motive depends.
Page 50 - Haste me to know it ; that I, with wings as swift As meditation, or the thoughts of love, May sweep to my revenge.
Page 126 - Why, man, they did make love to this employment; They are not near my conscience ; their defeat Does by their own insinuation grow : Tis dangerous, when the baser nature comes Between the pass and fell incensed points Of mighty opposites.
Page 82 - Ham. To be, or not to be : that is the queftion— — — Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to fuffer The flings and arrows of outragious fortune j Or to take arms againft a fea of troubles, * And by oppofing end them.
Page 19 - That it should come to this ! But two months dead ! nay, not so much, not two! So excellent a King ! that was, to this, Hyperion to a satyr : so loving to my mother, That he might not let e'en the winds of Heaven Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth...

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