Shakespeare's Story of His Life

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G. Richards, 1904 - 454 pages
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Page 62 - O no ! it is an ever fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken : It is the star to every wandering bark. The " rosy lips and cheeks " swept away by Time's sickle, and the " brief hours and weeks " that suffice to make Time's changes, point to the special circumstances wherein Love
Page 366 - Take, O, take those lips away, That so sweetly were forsworn ; And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn ; But my kisses bring again, [bring again] : Seals of love, but sealed in vain, [sealed in vain]. Hide, O, hide those hills of snow Which thy frozen bosom bears,
Page 27 - national event of S. 107 : Not mine own fears nor the prophetic soul Of the wide world, dreaming on things to come, Can yet the lease of my true love control, Supposed as forfeit to a confin'd doom. The mortal Moon hath her eclipse endur'd, And the sad Augurs mock their own presage
Page 424 - Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbraced ; No hat upon his head ; his stockings foul'd, Ungarter'd, and down-gyved to his ancle ; Pale as his shirt ; his knees knocking each other, And with a look so piteous in purport As if he had been loosed out of hell To speak of horrors, he comes before me.
Page 296 - Now my charms are all o'erthrown, And what strength I have's mine own, Which is most faint. . . . Now I want Spirits to enforce, art to enchant, And my ending is despair, Unless I be relieved by prayer, Which pierces so that it assaults Mercy itself, and frees all faults. This is
Page 444 - Alas, poor Yorick ! I knew him, Horatio : a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. . . . Where be your gibes now? your gambols ? your songs ? your flashes of merriment that were wont to set the table on a roar ? This
Page 28 - Now with the drops of this most balmy time My love looks fresh, and death to me subscribes ; Since, spite of him, I'll live in this poor rhyme, While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes. And thou in this shalt find thy monument, When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent. The
Page 399 - For, if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a good kissing carrion,"—Have you a daughter ? Pol. I have, my lord. Ham. Let her not walk i' the sun ; conception is a blessing ; but as your daughter may conceive—friend, look to't. Pol. \Aside\ How say you by that ? Still harping on my daughter.
Page 301 - If thou dost break her virgin-knot before All sanctimonious ceremonies may With full and holy rite be minister'd, No sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall To make this contract grow ; but barren hate, Sour-eyed disdain and discord shall bestrew The union of your bed with weeds so loathly That you shall hate it both.
Page 298 - Could not again undo ; it was mine art, When I arrived and heard thee, that made gape The pine and let thee out. Art. I thank thee, master. Pros. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak And peg thee in his knotty entrails till Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. The

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