The Works of William Shakespeare, Volume 5 (Google eBook)

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G. Routledge and sons, 1866
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Page 164 - My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain. Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree: Murder, stern murder, in the dir'st degree; All several sins, all us'd in each degree, Throng to the bar, crying all, 'Guilty! Guilty!
Page 217 - Ay, but to die, and go we know not where ; To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot ; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod ; and the delighted spirit To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice ; To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, And blown with restless violence round about The pendent world ; or to be worse than worst Of those that lawless and inccrtain thoughts Imagine howling ! 'tis too horrible.
Page 298 - Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain tops that freeze, Bow themselves when he did sing ; To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung, as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring. Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing die.
Page 216 - Dar'st thou die ? The sense of death is most in apprehension; And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies.
Page 312 - Farewell ! a long farewell to all my greatness ! This is the state of man ; to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope;* to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him ; The third day comes a frost, a killing frost ; And, when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root, And then he falls, as I do.
Page 215 - For ending thee no sooner : Thou hast nor youth, nor age ; But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep, Dreaming on both : for all thy blessed youth Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms Of palsied eld ; and when thou art old and rich, Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty, To make thy riches pleasant. What 's yet in this, That bears the name of life ? Yet in this life Lie hid more thousand deaths : yet death we fear, That makes these odds all even.
Page 319 - He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one ; Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading : Lofty and sour to them that loved him not ; But, to those men that sought him, sweet as summer...
Page 314 - Love thyself last ; cherish those hearts that hate thee ; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not : Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's...
Page 188 - Heaven doth with us, as we with torches do ; Not light them for themselves : for if our virtues Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike As if we had them not.
Page 93 - I 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...

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