The dramatic works of William Shakspeare, with notes original and selected by S.W. Singer, and a life of the poet by C. Symmons, Volume 4

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Samuel Weller Singer
1843
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Page 405 - This England never did, (nor never shall,) Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, But when it first did help to wound itself. Now these her princes are come home again, Come the three corners of the world in arms, And we shall shock them : Nought shall make us rue, If England to itself do rest but true.
Page 227 - Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand ? Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight .' or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain ? I see thee yet, in form as palpable 40 As this which now I draw.
Page 248 - Duncan is in his grave; After life's fitful fever he sleeps well; Treason has done his •worst: nor steel, nor poison, Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, Can touch him further.
Page 306 - Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form ; Then have I reason to be fond of grief.
Page 62 - When daffodils begin to peer, With heigh ! the doxy over the dale, Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year; For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale. The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, With heigh ! the sweet birds, O, how they sing!
Page 72 - What you do Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet, I'd have you do it ever : when you sing, I'd have you buy and sell so ; so give alms ; Pray so ; and, for the ordering your affairs, To sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you A wave o...
Page 255 - Blood hath been shed ere now, i'the olden time, Ere human statute purged the gentle weal ; Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd Too terrible for the ear : the times have been, That when the brains were out the man would die, And there an end : but now, they rise again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our stools : this is more strange Than such a murder is.
Page 56 - I would, there were no age between ten and three-and-twenty; or that youth would sleep out the rest: for there is nothing in the between but getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, fighting.
Page 70 - 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 217 - Come you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood, Stop up the access and passage to remorse, That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between The effect and it!

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