The Plays and Poems of William Shakspeare, Volume 14

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R. C. and J. Rivington, 1821
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Page 350 - Yet nature is made better by no mean But nature makes that mean : so, over that art Which you say adds to nature, is an art That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock, And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of nobler race : this is an art Which does mend nature, change it rather, but The art itself is nature.
Page 16 - Who deserves greatness Deserves your hate ; and your affections are A sick man's appetite, who desires most that Which would increase his evil. He that depends Upon your favours swims with fins of lead And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye ! Trust ye ? With every minute you do change a mind, And call him noble that was now your hate, Him vile that was your garland.
Page 233 - By and by we hear news of shipwreck in the same place, and then we are to blame if we accept it not for a rock. Upon the back of that comes out a hideous monster, with fire and smoke...

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