Shakespeare's tragedy of Cymbeline (Google eBook)

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American book company, 1905 - Britons - 292 pages
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Page 277 - O thou goddess, Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st : In these two princely boys ! They are as gentle As zephyrs, blowing below the violet, Not wagging his sweet head : and yet as rough, Their royal blood enchaf 'd, as the rud'st wind, That by the top doth take the mountain pine And make him stoop to the vale.
Page 218 - Full little knowest thou that hast not tride, What hell it is, in suing long to bide : To loose good dayes, that might be better spent...
Page 116 - Fear no more the frown o' the great; Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; Care no more to clothe and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak. The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust.
Page 191 - Dangerous conceits are in their natures poisons, Which at the first are scarce found to distaste, But with a little act upon the blood, Burn like the mines of sulphur.
Page 55 - Hark, hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies ; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes : With every thing that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise : Arise, arise.
Page 220 - Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him. Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell Of different flowers in odour and in hue, Could make me any summer's story tell...
Page 189 - If we should fail? Lady M. We fail! But screw your courage to the sticking-place, And we'll not fail. When Duncan is asleep Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey Soundly invite him his two chamberlains Will I with wine and wassail so convince That memory, the warder of the brain, Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason A limbeck only...
Page 83 - tis slander, Whose edge is sharper than the sword ; whose tongue Outvenoms all the worms of Nile ; * whose breath Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie All corners of the world : kings, queens, and states,3 Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave This viperous slander enters.
Page 218 - Princes grace, yet want her Peeres; To have thy asking, yet waite manie yeeres; To fret thy soule with crosses and with cares; To eate thy heart through comfortlesse dispaires; To fawne, to crowche, to waite, to ride, to ronne, To spend, to give, to want, to be undonne.

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