The plays and poems of Shakspeare [according to the text of E. Malone] with notes and 170 illustr. from the plates in Boydell's ed., ed. by A.J. Valpy (Google eBook)

Front Cover
1833
0 Reviews
  

What people are saying - Write a review

We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.

Related books

Other editions - View all

Common terms and phrases

Popular passages

Page 260 - Let's dry our eyes ; and thus far hear me, Cromwell, And when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me more must be heard of, say I taught thee ; Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor...
Page 272 - He was a scholar, and a ripe, and good one; Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading : Lofty, and sour, to them that lov'd him not; But, to those men that sought him, sweet as summer.
Page 304 - ... in her days, every man shall eat in safety, under his own vine, what he plants; and sing the merry songs of peace to all his neighbours...
Page 8 - 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 87 - 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 259 - I have told him What, and how true thou art: he will advance thee; Some little memory of me will stir him, (I know his noble nature,) not to let Thy hopeful service perish too: Good Cromwell, Neglect him not; make use now, and provide For thine own future safety.
Page 217 - tis a sufferance panging As soul and body's severing. Old Lady Alas, poor lady! She's a stranger now again. ANNE So much the more Must pity drop upon her. Verily, I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born, And range with humble livers in content, Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief, And wear a golden sorrow.
Page 233 - 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 40 - I have pass'da miserable night, So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights, That, as I am a Christian faithful man, I would not spend another such a night, Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days; So full of dismal terror was the time.
Page 152 - Myself? There's none else by. Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I. Is there a murderer here? No— yes, I am. Then fly. What, from myself? Great reason why— Lest I revenge. What, myself upon myself! Alack, I love myself. Wherefore? For any good That I myself have done unto myself? O, no! Alas, I rather hate myself For hateful deeds committed by myself!

Bibliographic information