The plays of William Shakspeare, pr. from the text by G. Steevens and E. Malone, with a selection of notes, by A. Chalmers, 4 tomas
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answer arms Attendants Bast bear better blood Boling Bolingbroke breath brother comes cousin crown dead death dost doth duke earth England Enter Exeunt Exit eyes face fair faith father fear France friends Gaunt give grace grief hand hath head hear heart heaven Henry hold honour horse hour I'll John JOHNSON keep king Lady land leave live look lord Macb Macbeth Macd majesty MALONE master means meet mind nature never night noble North once peace Percy play Poins poor pray present prince Queen rest Rich Richard Rosse SCENE Shakspeare shame sleep soul speak stand strange sweet tell thee thine thing thou art thought tongue true wife Witch York
230 psl. - Grief fills the room up of .my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me ; Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form ; Then, have I reason to be fond of grief.
85 psl. - This supernatural soliciting Cannot be ill ; cannot be good : if ill, Why hath it given me earnest of success, Commencing in a truth ? I am thane of Cawdor : If good, why do I yield to that suggestion Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair. And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, Against the use of nature...
90 psl. - Hie thee hither, That I may pour my spirits in thine ear ; And chastise with the valour of my tongue All that impedes thee from the golden round, , Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem To have thee crown'd withaL Enter an Attendant.
481 psl. - When that this body did contain a spirit, A kingdom for it was too small a bound; But now two paces of the vilest earth Is room enough.
103 psl. - 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. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight .' or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain ? I see thee yet, in form as palpable 40 As this which now I draw.
327 psl. - And that small model of the barren earth, Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. For heaven's sake, let us sit upon the ground, And tell sad stories of the death of kings : How some have been depos'd, some slain in war; Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd ; Some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping kill'd ; All murder'd : For within the hollow crown, That rounds the mortal temples of a king, Keeps death his court : and there the antic sits, Scoffing his state, and grinning...
130 psl. - The times have been That, when the brains were out, the man would die, And there an end ; but now they rise again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our stools.
91 psl. - Stop up the access and passage to remorse ; > That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between The effect, and it ! Come to my woman's breasts, And take my milk for gall, you murd'ring ministers, Wherever in your sightless substances You wait on nature's mischief...
470 psl. - tis no matter ; 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 4. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? He that died o
327 psl. - 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?