The Plays of William Shakspeare... (Google eBook)

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Vernor, 1800
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Page 73 - Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me, Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell...
Page 70 - This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under me and now has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
Page 14 - Was ever woman in this humour woo'd ? Was ever woman in this humour won ? I'll have her, but I will not keep her long. What ! I, that kill'd her husband and his father, To take her in her heart's extremest hate ; With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, The bleeding witness of her hatred by ; Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me, And I no friends to back my suit withal, But the plain devil, and dissembling looks...
Page 74 - tis the king's : my robe, And my integrity to heaven, is all I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell, Had I but served my God with half the zeal I served my king, he would not in mine age Have left me naked to mine enemies.
Page 29 - With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise, I trembling wak'd, and, for a season after, Could not believe but that I was in hell, Such terrible impression made my dream.
Page 55 - Roots, you clear heavens! Thus much of this will make black white, foul fair, Wrong right, base noble, old young, coward valiant. Ha! you gods, why this? What this, you gods? Why, this Will lug your priests and servants from your sides, Pluck stout...
Page 34 - tis better to be lowly born, And range with humble livers in content, Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief, And wear a golden sorrow.
Page 71 - O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours ! There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or women have; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again.
Page 28 - Who pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood, With that grim ferryman which poets write of, Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger soul, Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick; Who cried aloud, ' What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence...
Page 2 - That dogs bark at me as I halt by them; Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time...

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