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ancient appears arms bear believe better blood Boling Bolingbroke called common copies cousin crown death doth duke Earl earth edition England Enter expression eyes face fair Falstaff fear folio four Gaunt give grief hand hast hath head hear heart heaven Holinshed honour horse I'll John Johnson kind King Henry King Richard Lady land live look lord Malone March means meet mentioned Mortimer never night noble North observes old copies Oldcastle original passage peace Percy perhaps person play Poins present Prince printed quarto Queen Rich sack says scene seems sense Shakspeare Sir John soul speak speech stand Steevens suppose sweet tell term thee thing thou thou art thought tongue true WARBURTON York
Page 147 - And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. Duch. Alas ! poor Richard ! where rides he the while ? York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men, After a well-graced actor leaves the stage, Are idly bent on him that enters next, Thinking his prattle to be tedious : Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes Did scowl on Richard ; no man cried, God save him...
Page 387 - Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on ? how then ? Can honour set to a leg ? No. Or an arm ? No. Or take away the grief of a wound ? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery then ? No. What is honour ? A word. What is in that word, honour ? What is that honour ? Air. A trim reckoning ! — Who hath it ? He that died o
Page 206 - I know you all, and will awhile uphold The unyoked humour of your idleness. Yet herein will I imitate the sun, Who doth permit the base contagious clouds To smother up his beauty from the world...
Page 111 - God's name, let it go : 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 291 - Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how thou art accompanied : for though the camomile, the more it is trodden on, the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears.
Page 212 - Out of my grief and my impatience Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what, He should, or he should not; for he made me mad To see him shine so brisk and smell so sweet And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman Of guns, and drums, and wounds, — God save the mark!— And telling me the sovereign's!
Page 34 - And now my tongue's use is to me no more Than an unstringed viol, or a harp ; Or like a cunning instrument cased up, Or, being open, put into his hands That knows no touch to tune the harmony.
Page 307 - Why, so can I, or so can any man ; But will they come when you do call for them ? Glend.
Page 100 - No matter where. Of comfort no man speak: Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth; 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.