Shakespeare's tragedy of King Richard the Third (Google eBook)

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Baker and Taylor, 1904 - 258 pages
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Page 211 - And put it to the foil : but you, O you, So perfect, and so peerless, are created Of every creature's best.
Page 156 - 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 38 - I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling Nature, Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them...
Page 155 - Give me another horse! bind up my wounds! Have mercy, Jesu! Soft! I did but dream. O! coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me. The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight. Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. What! do I fear myself? there's none else by Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.
Page 225 - For mine own good, All causes shall give way : I am in blood Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er : Strange things I have in head, that will to hand ; Which must be acted ere they may be scann'd.
Page 64 - 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 63 - As we pac'd along Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, Methought that Gloster stumbled: and, in falling, Struck me, that thought to stay him, over-board, Into the tumbling billows of the main. O Lord ! methought what pain it was to drown ! What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears! What sights of ugly death within mine eyes...
Page 37 - Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York ; And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths ; Our bruised arms hung up for monuments ; Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Page 100 - My Lord of Ely, when I was last in Holborn, I saw good strawberries in your garden there : I do beseech you send for some of them.
Page 161 - Slave, I have set my life upon a cast, And I will stand the hazard of the die: I think, there be six Richmonds in the field ; Five have I slain to-day, instead of him: A horse ! a horse ! my kingdom for a horse ! [Exeunt.

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