The Plays & Poems of Shakespeare: Merry wives of Windsor. Measure for measure. Comedy of errors (Google eBook)

Front Cover
H:O. Bohn, 1857
0 Reviews
  

What people are saying - Write a review

We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.

Common terms and phrases

Popular passages

Page 181 - Be absolute for death ; either death, or life, Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with Life : If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing That none but fools would keep...
Page 150 - Men give like gods ; but when they weep and kneel, All their petitions are as freely theirs As they themselves would owe them.
Page 135 - Heaven doth with us as we with torches do, Not light them for themselves ; for if our virtues Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely...
Page 166 - Alas ! alas ! Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once; And He that might the vantage best have took, Found out the remedy: How would you be, If he, which is the top of judgment, should But judge you as you are? O, think on that; And mercy then will breathe within your lips, Like man new made.
Page 186 - Ay, but to die, and go we know not where ; To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot ; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod ; and the delighted spirit To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice ; To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, And blown with restless violence round about The pendent world...
Page 204 - Take, oh take those lips away, That so sweetly were forsworn; And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn; But my kisses bring again, bring again, Seals of love, but seal'd in vain. seal'd in vain.
Page 141 - From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty : As surfeit is the father of much fast, So every scope by the immoderate use Turns to restraint : Our natures do pursue, (Like rats that ravin down their proper bane,) A thirsty evil ; and when we drink, we die.
Page 186 - tis too horrible. The weariest and most loathed worldly life, That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment Can lay on nature, is a paradise To what we fear of death.
Page 168 - Than the soft myrtle: but man, proud man, Drest in a little brief authority, Most ignorant of what he's most assured, His glassy essence, like an angry ape, Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven As make the angels weep; who, with our spleens, Would all themselves laugh mortal.
Page 247 - They say, best men are moulded out of faults ; And, for the most, become much more the better For being a little bad : so may my husband.

Bibliographic information