Shakespeare's Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet: Ed., with Notes (Google eBook)

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American Book Company, 1907 - 297 pages
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Page 94 - 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 21 - These violent delights have violent ends, And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume : the sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness And in the taste confounds the appetite : Therefore love moderately ; long love doth so ; Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
Page 108 - 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.
Page 51 - ... a lies asleep, Then dreams he of another benefice. Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, Of healths five fathom deep ; and then anon Drums in his ear, at which he starts, and wakes ; And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two, And sleeps again.
Page 69 - For nought so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give...
Page 37 - Here's much to do with hate, but more with love. Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O anything, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness! serious vanity! Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms! Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
Page 50 - Her wagon-spokes made of long spinners' legs, The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers, The traces, of the smallest spider's web, The collars, of the moonshine's watery beams...
Page 108 - Wilt thou be gone ? it is not yet near day : It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear ; Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree : Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.
Page 61 - See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek ! Jul.
Page 56 - Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers

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