The Works of Mr. William Shakespear;: In Six Volumes. Adorn'd with Cuts, Том 2
Jacob Tonson, 1709 - 3324 страници
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bear better Blood bring Brother comes Count Court Daughter dear Death defire doth Duke e'er Enter Exeunt Exit Eyes fair Faith Father fear felf fhall fhould follow fome Fool Fortune fpeak Friend ftand fuch fwear fweet gentle give gone Grace Hand hath Head hear heard Heart Heav'n himſelf hold Honour hope Hour Houſe I'll Kath keep King Lady leave live look Lord Love Madam Mafter Maid marry mean moft muft muſt Name Nature never Night Orla Place play pleaſe poor pray Queen Ring SCENE Servant ſhall ſhe ſpeak tell thank thee thefe theſe thing thou thou art thought true whofe Wife World young Youth
Страница 614 - 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.
Страница 514 - Now the wasted brands do glow, Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud, Puts the wretch, that lies in woe, In remembrance of a shroud. Now it is the time of night, That the graves, all gaping wide, Every one lets forth his sprite, In the church-way paths to glide.
Страница 526 - I hate him for he is a Christian ; But more for that in low simplicity He lends out money gratis, and brings down The rate of usance here with us in Venice. If I can catch him once upon the hip, I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.
Страница 617 - Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon...
Страница 906 - But nature makes that mean; so over that art, Which you say adds to nature, is an art That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock, And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of nobler race. This is an art Which does mend nature — change it rather; but The art itself is nature.
Страница 474 - That very time I saw (but thou could'st not), Flying between the cold moon and the earth, Cupid all arm'd : a certain aim he took At a fair vestal throned by the west, And...
Страница 817 - But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek: she pin'd in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat like Patience on a monument, Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed?
Страница 776 - The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together : our virtues would be proud if our faults whipped them not; and our crimes would despair if they were not cherished by our virtues.
Страница 557 - I first imparted my love to you, I freely told you all the wealth I had ran in my veins; but I should have told you that I had less than nothing, being in debt.
Страница 528 - 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. Well then, it now appears you need my help : Go to, then : you come to me, and you say, Shylock) we would have moneys...