Shakespeare and His Times

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Harper & brothers., 1855 - 360 pages
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Page 110 - O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide, The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, That did not better for my life provide Than public means which public manners breeds. Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, And almost thence my nature is subdued To what it works in, like the dyer's hand.
Page 293 - No more of that ; — I pray you, in your letters, When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, Speak of me as I am ; nothing extenuate, Nor set down aught in malice...
Page 173 - O my love! my wife! Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty: Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there.
Page 48 - Twas Christmas told the merriest tale ; A Christmas gambol oft could cheer The poor man's heart through half the year.
Page 50 - Come, my Corinna, come ; and, coming, mark How each field turns a street, each street a park Made green and trimm'd with trees : see how Devotion gives each house a bough Or branch : each porch, each door ere this An ark, a tabernacle is, Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove; As if here were those cooler shades of love.
Page 48 - Ceremony doffed his pride. The heir, with roses in his shoes, That night might village partner choose ; The lord, underogating, share The vulgar game of
Page 284 - Farewell the tranquil mind ! farewell content! Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars, That make ambition virtue ! O, farewell! Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, The royal banner; and all quality, Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war ! And, O you mortal engines, whose rude throats The immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit, Farewell!
Page 119 - Good friend, for Jesus' sake forbear To dig the dust enclosed here. Blessed be the man that spares these stones And cursed be he that moves my bones.
Page 293 - Set you down this ; And say besides, that in Aleppo once, Where a malignant and a turban'd Turk Beat a Venetian and traduced the state, I took by the throat the circumcised dog, And smote him, thus.
Page 50 - Get up, get up for shame, the blooming morn Upon her wings presents the god unshorn. See how Aurora throws her fair Fresh-quilted colours through the air; Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see The dew bespangling herb and tree.

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