The Elements of Elocution and Correct Reading

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T. Laurie, 1871 - 170 pages
 

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Page 93 - Signior Antonio, many a time and oft In the Rialto you have rated me About my moneys and my usances : Still have I borne it with a patient shrug ; For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe. You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog, And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine, And all for use of that which is mine own.
Page 21 - Full little knowest thou, that hast not tried, What hell it is in suing long to bide ; To lose good days that might be better spent ; To waste long nights in pensive discontent; To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow ; To feed on hope ; to pine with fear and sorrow ; To have thy Prince's grace, yet want her peers...
Page 144 - Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil, that men do, lives after them ; The good is oft interred with their bones : So let it be with Caesar.
Page 124 - A man severe he was, and stern to view, I knew him well, and every truant knew; Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace The day's disasters in his morning face ; Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee, At all his jokes, for many a joke had he...
Page 44 - Romans, countrymen, and lovers! Hear me for my cause, and be silent, that you may hear. Believe me for mine honour, and have respect to mine honour, that you may believe. Censure me in your wisdom, and awake your senses, that you may the better judge. If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of Caesar's, to him I say that Brutus' love to Caesar was no less than his.
Page 24 - The stars shall fade away, the sun himself Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years, But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, Unhurt amidst the war of elements, The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds.
Page 108 - 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 149 - But that the dread of something after death — The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn No traveller returns — puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of...
Page 31 - It must be so — Plato, thou reason'st well ! — Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, This longing after immortality ? Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror, Of falling into nought ? why shrinks the soul Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? 'Tis the divinity that stirs within us ; 'Tis heaven itself, that points out an hereafter, And intimates eternity to man.
Page 81 - And shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the earth, That living mortals, hearing them, run mad, — O ! if I wake, shall I not be distraught, Environed with all these hideous fears? And madly play with my forefathers

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