The Plays and Poems of William Shakspeare: In Ten Volumes: Collated Verbatim with the Most Authentick Copies, and Revised; with the Corrections and Illustrations of Various Commentators; to which are Added, an Essay on the Chronological Order of His Plays; an Essay Relative to Shakspeare and Jonson; a Dissertation on the Three Parts of King Henry VI; an Historical Account of the English Stage; and Notes; by Edmond Malone, Volume 5
H. Baldwin, 1790
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ancient appears arms Baling Bard Bardolph battle of Agincourt Ben Jonson blood Bolingbroke brother called cousin crown death doth duke duke of Hereford earl England English Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair Falstaff fame father fays fear fense folio foul France French Gaunt give grace grief hall hand Harfleur Harry hast hath hear heart heaven Henry IV honour horse humour John of Gaunt Johnson King Henry king's lady liege look lord majesty Malone master means merry Morris dance Mortimer never night noble Northumberland old copies passage peace Percy Pist Pistol play Poins pray prince prince of Wales quarto queen Rich Sbal SCENE Shakspeare shew Sir Dagonet Sir John Sir John Oldcastle soldiers speak Steevens Stiivins sweet sword tell thee Theobald thine thou art thought tongue true unto Warburton word
Page 342 - O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down, And steep my senses in forgetfulness...
Page 242 - Wednesday. Doth he feel it ? No. Doth he hear it? No. Is it insensible then ? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living ? No. Why ? Detraction will not suffer it : — therefore I'll none of it: Honour is a mere 'scutcheon, and so ends my catechism.
Page 137 - By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap, To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon, Or dive into the bottom of the deep, Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, And pluck up drowned honour by the locks ; So he that doth redeem her thence might wear Without corrival all her dignities : But out upon this half-faced fellowship ! Wor.
Page 502 - And you, good yeomen, Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture; let us swear That you are worth your breeding— which I doubt not; For there is none of you so mean and base That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game's afoot: Follow your spirit; and upon this charge Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!
Page 554 - This story shall the good man teach his son; And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered...
Page 346 - The which observed, a man may prophesy, With a near aim, of the main chance of things As yet not come to life, which in their seeds And weak beginnings lie intreasured.
Page 128 - But, I remember, when the fight was done, When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil, Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly...
Page 108 - To chase these pagans in those holy fields Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd For our advantage on the bitter cross.
Page 552 - By Jove, I am not covetous for gold, Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost ; It yearns me not if men my garments wear ; Such outward things dwell not in my desires : But if it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive.