The Third Part of Henry the Sixth, Volume 11, Issue 3 (Google eBook)

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Macmillan, 1913 - 159 pages
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Page 49 - God ! methinks it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run: How many make the hour full complete; How many hours bring about the day ; How many days will finish up the year; How many years a mortal man may live.
Page x - Yes, trust them not: for there is an upstart crow beautified with our feathers, that with his tiger's heart, wrapt in a player's hide, supposes he is as well able to bombast out a blank verse as the best of you; and being an absolute Johannes factotum, is in his own conceit the only Shake-scene in a country.
Page 131 - And so I was, which plainly signified That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog. Then, since the heavens have shap'd my body so, Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it. I have no brother, I am like no brother; And this word 'love,' which greybeards call divine, Be resident in men like one another, And not in me!
Page 128 - The bird that hath been limed in a bush, With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush : And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird, Have now the fatal object in my eye, Where my poor young was lim'd, was caught, and kill'd.
Page 50 - To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery ? O, yes it doth ; a thousand-fold it doth. And to conclude, the shepherd's homely curds, His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle, His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, Is far beyond a prince's delicates, His viands sparkling in a golden cup, His body couched in a curious bed, When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him.
Page 49 - I tend my flock; So many hours must I take my rest; So many hours must I contemplate; So many hours must I sport myself; So many days my ewes have been with young; So many weeks ere the poor fools will...
Page 49 - O God! methinks it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain : To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run : How many make the...
Page 48 - This battle fares like to the morning's war, When dying clouds contend with growing light, What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails, Can neither call it perfect day nor night.
Page 71 - I'll play the orator as well as Nestor ; Deceive more slily than Ulysses could ; And, like a Sinon, take another Troy : I can add colours to the chameleon ; Change shapes with Proteus for advantages ; And set the murderous Machiavel to school.

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