Shakespeare's Tragedy of King Richard the Second (Google eBook)

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Harper & brothers, 1876 - 225 pages
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Page 94 - All murder'd ; for within the hollow crown, That rounds the mortal temples of a king, Keeps Death his court, and there the antic sits, Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp...
Page 93 - And nothing can we call our own but death And that small model of the barren earth Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of kings...
Page 94 - Cover your heads and mock not flesh and blood With solemn reverence : throw away respect, Tradition, form and ceremonious duty, For you have but mistook me all this while : I live with bread like you, feel want, Taste grief, need friends : subjected thus, How can you say to me, I am a king ? Car.
Page 127 - Bolingbroke ! You would have thought the very windows spake, So many greedy looks of young and old Through casements darted their desiring eyes Upon his visage ; and that all the walls, With painted imagery, had said at once, Jesu preserve thee ! welcome, Bolingbroke ! Whilst he, from one side to the other turning, Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck, Bespoke them thus, I thank you, countrymen : And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along.
Page 66 - This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands, This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, Fear'd by their breed, and famous by their birth...
Page 182 - This is the excellent foppery of the world, that when we are sick in fortune often the surfeit of our own behaviour we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon and the stars...
Page 61 - O ! who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite By bare imagination of a feast?
Page 128 - God save him; No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home : But dust was thrown upon his sacred head ; Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off, His face still combating with tears and smiles, The badges of his grief and patience ; That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, And barbarism itself have pitied him.
Page 166 - So, when this loose behaviour I throw off, And pay the debt I never promised, By how much better than my word I am, By so much shall I falsify men's hopes ; And, like bright metal on a sullen ground, My reformation, glittering o'er my fault, Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes Than that which hath no foil to set it off.
Page 100 - I'll give my jewels for a set of beads; My gorgeous palace for a hermitage; My gay apparel for an alms-man's gown; My...

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