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Afide againſt anfwer art thou Bardolph Biron blood brother caufe coufin daughter death defire doft doth Duke elfe Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fafe faid fair father Faulconbridge fear feems fenfe fent ferve feven fhall fhew fhould fignifies fince fing fleep fome fool Ford foul fpeak fpirit ftand ftill fuch fure fwear fweet fword give grace hand hath hear heart heaven Henry himſelf Hoft honour horfe houfe houſe huſband Ifab John Kath kifs king lady lefs Leonato look lord Macbeth Macd madam mafter marry means miftrefs miſtreſs moft moſt muft muſt myſelf never pleaſe Pompey pray prefent prince purpoſe reafon ſay SCENE ſhall ſhe ſpeak tell thall thee thefe theſe thine thing thofe thou art thouſand tongue Weft whofe wife word worfe yourſelf
Page 320 - element,' but the word is over-worn. \Exit. Vio. This fellow is wise enough to play the fool ; And to do that well craves a kind of wit : He must observe their mood on whom he jests, The quality of persons, and the time, And, like the haggard, check at every feather That comes before his eye.
Page 429 - I'll give my jewels for a set of beads, My gorgeous palace for a hermitage, My gay apparel for an alms-man's gown, My...
Page 445 - But, I remember, when the fight was done, When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil, Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly...
Page 10 - Were I in England now, as once I was, and had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver. There would this monster make a man. Any strange beast there makes a man. When they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian.
Page 368 - tis done, then 'twere well It were done quickly; if the assassination Could trammel up the consequence, and catch With his surcease success : that but this blow Might be the be-all and the end-all here, But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, We'd jump the life to come.
Page 232 - Tis but an hour ago since it was nine, And after one hour more 'twill be eleven. And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe, And then from hour to hour we rot and rot; And thereby hangs a tale.
Page 195 - That the graves, all gaping wide, Every one lets forth his sprite, In the church-way paths to glide...
Page 369 - I go, and it is done: the bell invites me. Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell That summons thee to heaven, or to hell.