The Plays and Poems of William Shakspeare: Prolegomena (cont'd): Malone's life of Shakspeare, comprehending an essay on the chronological order of his plays. Appendix. Shakspeare's coat of arms (Google eBook)

Front Cover
F. C. and J. Rivington, 1821
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 268 - Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods ? Draw near them then in being merciful : Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge, Thrice-noble Titus, spare my first-born son.
Page 170 - And brass eternal slave to mortal rage ; When I have seen the hungry ocean gain Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, And the firm soil win of the watery main, Increasing store with loss and loss with store; When I have seen such interchange of state, Or state itself confounded to decay ; Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate, That Time will come and take my love away.
Page 102 - Thou coveredst it with the deep as with a garment: The waters stood above the mountains. At thy rebuke they fled; At the voice of thy thunder they hasted away.
Page 51 - Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you From seasons such as these ? O, I have ta'en Too little care of this ! Take physic, pomp ; Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, That thou mayst shake the superflux to them, And show the heavens more just.
Page 136 - I have given suck, and know How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me: I would, while it was smiling in my face, Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums, And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as you Have done to this.
Page 198 - Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety : other women cloy The appetites they feed : but she makes hungry Where most she satisfies : for vilest things Become themselves in her; that the holy priests Bless her when she is riggish.
Page 139 - Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, I'll sweeten thy sad grave: Thou shalt not lack The flower, that's like thy face, pale primrose; nor The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, Out-sweeten'd not thy breath...

Bibliographic information