Шта други кажу - Напишите рецензију
Нисмо пронашли ниједну рецензију на уобичајеним местима.
Друга издања - Прикажи све
Characters of Shakespeare's Plays: & Lectures on the English Poets
Приказ није доступан - 2015
admirable affections answer appear beauty better blood breath character circumstances comes common death doth equal eyes fall Falstaff father fear feeling fool force fortune friends genius give given grace hand hath hear heart Henry honour hope Hubert human imagination interest keep kind king lady Lear less light live look lord Macbeth manner marked master means mind moral nature never night noble object once Othello passages passion perhaps person piece play pleasure poet poetry poor present Prince reason respect rich Richard scene seems sense Shakspeare Shakspeare's shew sleep soul speak speech spirit stage stand story striking sweet tell tender thee thing thou thou art thought tion true truth turn whole wife youth
Страница 214 - All murder'd : for within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king, Keeps Death his court and there the antic sits, Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp, Allowing him a breath, a little scene, To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks, Infusing him with self and vain conceit, As if this flesh which walls about our life Were brass impregnable, and, humour'd thus Comes at the last and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king...
Страница 41 - The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts, And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers, Wherever in your sightless substances You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night, And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, To cry 'Hold, hold!
Страница 99 - Take the instant way For honour travels in a strait so narrow, W'here one but goes abreast: keep then the path; For emulation hath a thousand sons, That one by one pursue: If you give way, Or hedge aside from the direct forthright, Like to an enter'd tide, they all rush by, And leave you hindmost...
Страница 240 - To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet, To smooth the ice, or add another hue Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, Is wasteful, and ridiculous excess.
Страница 237 - Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form ; Then have I reason to be fond of grief.
Страница 322 - Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least ; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate; For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
Страница 131 - By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make, Whereof the ewe not bites; and you whose pastime Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid, Weak masters though ye be, I have bedimm'd The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault Set roaring war...
Страница 158 - ... by spherical predominance; drunkards, liars, and adulterers, by an enforced obedience of planetary influence ; and all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on. An admirable evasion of whoremaster man, to lay his goatish disposition to the charge of a star!
Страница 173 - I'll kneel down, And ask of thee forgiveness. So we'll live, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues Talk of court news ; and we'll talk with them too, Who loses, and who wins ; who's in, who's out ; And take...
Страница 214 - Let's choose executors and talk of wills : And yet not so — for what can we bequeath Save our deposed bodies to the ground? Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke's, And nothing can we call our own but death, And that small model of the barren earth Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.