Life Portraits of William Shakespeare: A History of the Various Representations of the Poet, with an Examination Into Their Authenticity

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S. Low, son, & Marston, 1864 - 128 pages
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Contents

VII
64
IX
87
XI
107
XII
120
XIII
122

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Page 4 - Sweet Swan of Avon! what a sight it were To see thee in our waters yet appear, And make those flights upon the banks of Thames, That so did take Eliza, and our James!
Page 3 - Renowned Spenser, lie a thought more nigh To learned Chaucer ; and, rare Beaumont, lie A little nearer Spenser ; to make room For Shakespeare in your threefold fourfold tomb...
Page 3 - Soul of the age! The applause! delight! the wonder of our stage! My Shakespeare rise! I will not lodge thee by Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie A little further, to make thee a room: Thou art a monument without a tomb, And art alive still while thy book doth live And we have wits to read, and praise to give.
Page 127 - Witty above her sexe, but that's not all, Wise to salvation was good Mistris Hall. Something of Shakespeare was in that, but this Wholy of him with whom she's now in blisse.
Page 18 - ... the tide : for after I saw him fumble with the sheets, and play with flowers, and smile upon his finger's end, I knew there was but one way ; for his nose was as sharp as a pen on a table of green frieze.'2 How now, sir John ? quoth I : what, man ! be of sood cheer.
Page 35 - Shakespeare, thy gift, I place before my sight; With awe, I ask his blessing ere I write ; With reverence look on his majestic face; Proud to be less, but of his godlike race.
Page 39 - THIS Figure, that thou here seest put, It was for gentle Shakespeare cut; Wherein the Graver had a strife With Nature, to out-doo the life: O, could he but have drawne his wit As well in brasse, as he hath hit His face; the Print would then surpasse All, that was ever writ in brasse. But, since he cannot, Reader, looke Not on his Picture, but his Booke.
Page 100 - This sword a dagger had, his page, That was but little for his age...
Page 98 - Sr. Jon Falsstaff: in a roabe of russet, quite low, with a great belley, like a swolen man, long moustacheos, the sheows [shoes] shorte, and out of them great toes like naked feete : buskins to sheaw a great swolen leg.
Page 127 - Wholy of him with whom she's now in blisse. Then, Passenger, ha'st ne're a teare To weepe with her that wept with all ? That wept, yet set herselfe to chere Them up with comforts cordiall. Her Love shall live, her mercy spread, When thou hast ne're a tear to shed.

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