The Plays and Poems of William Shakspeare: In Ten Volumes: Collated Verbatim with the Most Authentick Copies, and Revised; with the Corrections and Illustrations of Various Commentators; to which are Added, an Essay on the Chronological Order of His Plays; an Essay Relative to Shakspeare and Jonson; a Dissertation on the Three Parts of King Henry VI; an Historical Account of the English Stage; and Notes; by Edmond Malone, Volume 9 (Google eBook)

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H. Baldwin, 1790
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Page 392 - Imperious Caesar, dead and turn'd to clay, Might stop a hole to keep the wind away : O, that that earth, which kept the world in awe, Should patch a wall to expel the winter's flaw ! But soft ! but soft ! aside : here comes the king.
Page 88 - These violent delights have violent ends, And in their triumph die ! like fire and powder, Which, as they kiss, consume.
Page 391 - I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come ; make her laugh at that. Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing. Hor. What's that, my lord? Ham. Dost thou think Alexander looked o' this fashion i
Page 319 - Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me! You would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass: and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ, yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think, I am easier to be played on than a pipe...
Page 343 - They bear the mandate ; they must sweep my way, And marshal me to knavery. Let it work ; For 'tis the sport to have the engineer Hoist with his own petar : and 't shall go hard But I will delve one yard below their mines, And blow them at the moon : O, 'tis most sweet, When in one line two crafts directly meet.
Page 101 - Give me my Romeo: and when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun.
Page 198 - Nor the dejected haviour of the visage, Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief, That can denote me truly : these indeed seem, For they are actions that a man might play : But I have that within which passeth show ; These but the trappings and the suits of woe.
Page 41 - Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid ; Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut, Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub, Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers. And in this state she gallops night by night Through lovers...
Page 226 - I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young blood; Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres...
Page 258 - tis none to you; for there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so. To me it is a prison.

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