The plays of William Shakspeare, pr. from the text by G. Steevens and E. Malone, with a selection of notes, by A. Chalmers (Google eBook)

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1826
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Page 135 - All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Page 18 - Yes, to smell pork ; to eat of the habitation which your prophet, the Nazarite, conjured the Devil into. I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with you, walk with you, and so following ; but I will not eat with you, drink with you, nor pray with you.
Page 48 - Hath not a Jew eyes ? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions ? fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is ? If you prick us, do we not bleed ? if you tickle us, do we not laugh ? if you poison us, do we not die ? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge ? if we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian,...
Page 472 - I had some flowers o' the spring, that might Become your time of day ; and yours, and yours ; That wear upon your virgin branches yet Your maidenheads growing. O Proserpina, For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou let'st fall From Dis's* waggon ! daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty ; violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes, Or Cytherea's breath ; pale primroses, That die unmarried, ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength,...
Page 7 - In sooth, I know not why I am so sad: It wearies me; you say it wearies you; But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, I am to learn ; And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, That I have much ado to know myself.
Page 472 - But nature makes that mean: so, o'er that art, Which you say adds to nature, is an art That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock, And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of nobler race: this is an art Which does mend nature, change it rather; but The art itself is nature.
Page 271 - Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from point, to the full arming of the verity. 2 LoRD. I am heartily sorry, that he'll be glad of this. 1 LoRD. How mightily, sometimes, we make us comforts of our losses ! 2 LoRD. And how mightily, some other times, we drown our gain in tears ! The great dignity, that his valour hath here acquired for him, shall at home be encountered with a shame as ample.
Page 135 - Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lin'd, With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances ; And so he plays his part.

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