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Achilles Ajax answer arms bear better blood bring brother Buck Buckingham cause Clarence comes Cres crown dead death doth duke Edward Eliz enemy England English Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair fall father fear field fight follow force France French friends give Gloster grace hand hast hath head hear heart heaven Hector Henry highness hold honour hope I'll keep king lady leave live look lord Madam majesty master mean mind mother never night noble once peace poor pray prince queen rest Rich Richard SCENE Serv soldiers soul speak stand stay sweet sword tell thank thee thing thou thought tongue Troilus true Ulyss unto Warwick wife York
Page 454 - As fast as they are made, forgot as soon As done : perseverance, dear my lord, Keeps honour bright : to have done, is to hang Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail In monumental mockery. Take the instant way ; For honour travels in a strait so narrow, Where one but goes abreast : keep then the path ; For emulation hath a thousand sons That one by one pursue : if you give way, Or hedge aside from the direct forthright, Like to an enter'd tide they all rush by And leave you hindmost...
Page 265 - Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them — Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to see my shadow in the sun And descant on mine own deformity. And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover To entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Page 47 - And say — to-morrow is Saint Crispian : Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars, And say, these wounds I had on Crispin's day. Old men forget ; yet all shall be forgot, But he'll remember, with advantages, What feats he did that day :• Then shall our names, Familiar in...
Page 47 - Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host, That he which hath no stomach to this fight, Let him depart ; his passport shall be made And crowns for convoy put into his purse : We would not die in that man's company That fears his fellowship to die with us. This day is call'd the feast of Crispian : He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named, And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
Page 38 - From camp to camp through the foul womb of night The hum of either army stilly sounds, That the fix•d sentinels almost receive The secret whispers of each other's watch : Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames Each battle sees the other's umber'd face; Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs Piercing the night's dull ear; and from the tents The armourers, accomplishing the knights, With busy hammers closing rivets up, Give dreadful note of preparation...
Page 19 - I saw him fumble with the sheets, and play with flowers, and smile upon his fingers' ends, I knew there was but one way ; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and 'a babbled of green fields. How now, sir John ? quoth I : what, man ! be of good cheer. So 'a cried out — God, God, God! three or four times : now I, to comfort him, bid him 'a...
Page 391 - Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! This is the state of man; To-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him : The third day, comes a frost, a killing frost; And, — when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do.
Page 255 - My parks, my walks, my manors that I had, Even now forsake me ; and, of all my lands, Is nothing left me, but my body's length ! Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust? And, live we how we can, yet die we must.
Page 223 - Pass'd over to the end they were created, Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. Ah, what a life were this ! How sweet ! How lovely ! Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep, Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery ? O, yes, it doth; a thousand fold it doth.
Page 222 - God ! methinks it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain : To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run: How many make the hour full complete, How many hours bring about the day, How many days will finish up the year, How many years a mortal man may live.