Orthophony: Or the Cultivation of the Voice in Elocution. A Manual of Elementary Exercises, Adapted to Dr. Rush's "Philosophy of the Human Voice", and the System of Vocal Culture Introduced by Mr. James E. Murdoch ...
Houghton, Mifflin, 1882 - Elocution - 300 pages
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accent Anapaests arms articulation Aspirated Pectoral Aspirated Quality breath cadence character chest Compound Stress Coriolanus Declamatory deep diphthong distinct earth effect effusive element elocution emotion emphasis enunciation epiglottis error examples exercises explosive expression Expulsive Orotund eyes fall fault feeling force forcible gentle glottis grave grief guttural habit hath heart heaven High Horror human voice Iago Impassioned language larynx light lips lord Median Stress melody ment metre mode of utterance Moderate mouth movement muscles nasal natural o'er octave organs Orion armed Orotund Quality orthoepy Pathos pauses Pectoral Quality phrases Pitch practice prolonged prosodial Pure Tone PureTone quantity Radical Stress reading rhythm Roman Senate Semitone sentence Shakespeare shout Shylock soft solemn soul speak speech style Subdued Sublimity subtonic sweet syllables thee thou tion tongue tonic trachea unimpassioned Vanishing Stress verse vocal sound voice wave whisper words
Page 96 - Liberty first and Union afterwards ; but everywhere, spread all over in characters of living light, blazing on all its ample folds, as they float over the sea and over the land, and in every wind under the whole heavens, that other sentiment, dear to every true American heart, Liberty and Union, Now and Forever, One and Inseparable.
Page 84 - Shylock, we would have moneys : ' you say so ; You, that did void your rheum upon my beard And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur Over your threshold : moneys is your suit. What should I say to you ? Should I not say ' Hath a dog money ? is it possible A cur can lend three thousand ducats...
Page 77 - Strike — till the last armed foe expires; Strike — for your altars and your fires; Strike — for the green graves of your sires, God — and your native land!
Page 73 - Sir, before God, I believe the hour is come. My judgment approves this measure, and my whole heart is in it. All that I have, and all that I am, and all that I hope, in this life, I am now ready here to stake upon it; and I leave off as I began, that live or die, survive or perish, I am for the Declaration. It is my living sentiment, and by the blessing of God it shall be my dying sentiment, Independence now, and Independence forever.
Page 62 - Haste thee nymph and bring with thee Jest and youthful jollity, Quips and cranks, and wanton wiles, Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles. Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek; Sport that wrinkled care derides. And laughter holding both his sides.
Page 83 - Signior Antonio, many a time and oft, In the Rialto, you have rated me About my moneys and my usances : Still have I borne it with a patient shrug ; For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe...
Page 272 - Peace — but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish ? What would they have ? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery ? Forbid it, Almighty God ! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!
Page 93 - Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, — The seasons...
Page 135 - Now strike the golden lyre again: A louder yet, and yet a louder strain, Break his bands of sleep asunder, And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder. Hark, hark! the horrid sound Has raised up his head: As awaked from the dead, And amazed, he stares around. Revenge! revenge!
Page 203 - So we were left galloping, Joris and I, Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky; The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh, 'Neath our feet broke the brittle, bright stubble like chaff; Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white, And "Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight!