The Plays of William Shakespeare: With Notes of Various Commentators, Volume 6 (Google eBook)

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G. Kearsley [Printed, 1806
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Page 337 - Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood With solemn reverence : throw away respect, Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty, For you have but mistook me all this while: I live with bread like you, feel want, Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus, How can you say to me I am a king?
Page 336 - No matter where; of comfort no man speak : Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs ; Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth.
Page 61 - Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time, Ere human statute purg'd the gentle weal; Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd Too terrible for the ear: the times have been, That, when the brains were out, the man would die, And there an end; but now they rise again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our stools: this is more strange Than such a murder is.
Page 29 - We will proceed no further in this business : He hath honour'd me of late ; and I have bought Golden opinions from all sorts of people, Which would be worn now in their newest gloss, Not cast aside so soon.
Page 24 - Hie thee hither, That I may pour my spirits in thine ear; And chastise with the valour of my tongue All that impedes thee from the golden round, Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem To have thee crown'd withal.
Page 55 - Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep In the affliction of these terrible dreams, That shake us nightly : Better be with the dead, Whom we, to gain our place, have sent to peace, Than on the torture of the mind to lie In restless ecstacy.' Duncan is in his grave ; After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well ; Treason has done his worst : nor steel, nor poison, Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing. Can touch him further ! Lady M.
Page 100 - She should have died hereafter ; There would have been a time for such a word, To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time ; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle...
Page 100 - I have almost forgot the taste of fears : The time has been, my senses would have cool'd To hear a night-shriek ; and my fell of hair * Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir As life were in't : I have supp'd full with horrors ; Direness, familiar to my slaught'rous thoughts, Cannot once start me.
Page 24 - It is too full o' the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way : thou wouldst be great ; Art not without ambition, but without The illness should attend it: what thou wouldst highly, That wouldst thou holily ; wouldst not play false, And yet wouldst wrongly win: thou'dst have, great Glamis, That which cries ' Thus thou must do, if thou have it; And that which rather thou dost fear to do Than wishest should be undone.
Page 23 - For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires ! Let not light see my black and deep desires : The eye wink at the hand ! yet let that be, Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.

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