Ce spun oamenii - Scrieți o recenzie
Nu am găsit nicio recenzie în locurile obișnuite.
Alte ediții - Afișați-le pe toate
The dramatic works of William Shakspeare, with notes ..., Partea 17,Volumul 2
Vizualizare completă - 1826
The dramatic works of William Shakspeare, with notes original and ..., Volumul 9
Vizualizare completă - 1843
The dramatic works of William Shakspeare, with notes ..., Partea 25,Volumul 10
Vizualizare completă - 1826
answer Antonio appears Bass bear better Bianca bring brother comes common Count court daughter doth Duke Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair faith father fear fool fortune gentle give grace hand hast hath head hear heart heaven honour hope husband I'll Italy Kath keep kind King lady leave live look lord madam maid marry master means mistress nature never night old copy passage Petruchio play poor pray present rest ring Rosalind SCENE seems sense Servant serve Shakspeare Signior speak stand stay sure sweet tell thank thee thing thou thought Touch true turn unto wife young youth
Pagina 149 - 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...
Pagina 20 - Shylock, we would have moneys : " you say so, You, that did void your rheum upon my beard, And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur Over your threshold : moneys is your suit. What should I say to you ? Should I not say " Hath a dog money ? is it possible A cur can lend three thousand ducats...
Pagina 16 - How like a fawning publican he looks! 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.
Pagina 129 - Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, — The seasons' difference : as the icy fang And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say, This is no flattery : these are counsellors That feelingly persuade me what I am.
Pagina 95 - The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark, When neither is attended ; and, I think, The nightingale, if she should sing by day, When every goose is cackling, would be thought No better a musician than the wren.
Pagina 49 - Hath not a Jew eyes ? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is ? If you prick us, do we not bleed ? if you tickle us, do we not laugh ? If you poison us, do we not die ? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge ? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian,...
Pagina 444 - Such duty as the subject owes the prince, Even such a woman oweth to her husband: And, when she's froward, peevish, sullen, sour, And not obedient to his honest will, What is she but a foul contending rebel, And graceless traitor to her loving lord ? — I am ashamed that women are so simple To offer war where they should kneel for peace ; Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway, When they are bound to serve, love, and obey.
Pagina 148 - All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress
Pagina 103 - Love in my bosom like a bee, Doth suck his sweet; Now with his wings he plays with me, Now with his feet. Within mine eyes he makes his nest, His bed amidst my tender breast, My kisses are his daily feast; And yet he robs me of my rest: Ah, wanton, will ye?