The Plays and Poems of William Shakspeare, Volume 11

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R. C. and J. Rivington, 1821
 

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Página 104 - Amen" the other: As they had seen me with these hangman's hands. Listening their fear, I could not say "Amen" When they did say "God bless us!
Página 123 - Had I but died an hour before this chance, I had liv'da blessed time ; for, from this instant, • There's nothing serious in mortality : All is but toys : renown, and grace, is dead ; The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of.
Página 93 - Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee : I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Página 240 - The thane of Fife had a wife; where is she now? What! will these hands ne'er be clean? No more o' that, my lord, no more o' that: you mar all with this starting.
Página 240 - To bed, to bed; there's knocking at the gate. Come, come, come, come, give me your hand ; What's done, cannot be undone : To bed, to bed, to bed.
Página 151 - Duncan is in his grave ; After life's fitful fever he sleeps well ; Treason has done his worst : nor steel, nor poison. Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, Can touch him further.
Página 57 - Yet do I fear thy nature ; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way; thou wouldst be great, Art not without ambition, but without The illness should attend it; what thou wouldst highly That...
Página 38 - Are ye fantastical, or that indeed Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner You greet with present grace, and great prediction Of noble having, and of royal hope, That he seems rapt withal; to me you speak not: If you can look into the seeds of time, And say, which grain will grow, and which will not, Speak then to me, who neither beg, nor fear, Your favours, nor your hate.
Página 66 - Your face, my thane, is as a book, where men May read strange matters : — To beguile the time, Look like the time ; bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue : look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under it.
Página 44 - tis strange : And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths ; Win us with honest trifles, to betray us In deepest consequence Cousins, a word, . I pray you.

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