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Achilles Ajax Antony Apemantus arms art thou bear blood brother Brutus Caesar Cassio Cleo Coriolanus Cres crown Cymbeline daughter dead dear death Diomed dost doth duke duke of York Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair farewell father fear fool fortune friends Gent give Gloster gods grace hand hare hath hear heart heaven hither honour i'the Iago Kent king lady Laertes Lear leave live look lord Lucius madam Mark Antony mother ne'er never night noble o'the Othello Pandarus Patroclus peace Pericles poor pray prince queen Rich Rome Romeo Saint Albans SCENE soldiers Somerset soul speak stand Suffolk sweet sword tears tell thee there's thine thing thou art thou hast Timon tongue Troilus Tybalt unto villain Warwick weep What's wilt words York
Page 241 - If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle: I remember The first time ever Caesar put it on; 'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent; That day he overcame the Nervii : — Look ! In this place ran Cassius...
Page 427 - I know my course. The spirit that I have seen May be the devil : and the devil hath power To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps Out of my weakness and my melancholy, — As he is very potent with such spirits, — Abuses me to damn me: I'll have grounds More relative than this: — the play's the thing Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king.
Page 236 - Cowards die many times before their deaths ; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear ; Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come, when it will come.
Page 84 - 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...
Page 160 - A great-sized monster of ingratitudes: Those scraps are good deeds past; which are devour'd 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.
Page 228 - And do you now put on your best attire ? And do you now cull out a holiday ? And do you now strew flowers in his way, That comes in triumph over Pompey 's blood? Be gone ! Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, Pray to the gods to intermit the plague That needs must light on this ingratitude.
Page 420 - GHOST. I am thy father's spirit; Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night; And, for the day, confin'd to fast in fires, Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature, Are burnt and purg'd away. But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison-house, I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young blood...
Page 437 - What is a man, If his chief good and market of his time Be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more. Sure he that made us with such large discourse, Looking before and after, gave us not That capability and god-like reason To fust in us unus'd.