The Works of Shakespeare ...

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Bobbs-Merrill Company, 1907
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Page 45 - But then I sigh, and with a piece of Scripture, Tell them — that God bids us do good for evil ; And thus I clothe my naked villany With old odd ends, stolen forth of holy writ ; And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.
Page 8 - And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover, To entertain these fair well-spoken days, — I am determined to prove a villain, And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Page 7 - I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling Nature, Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them...
Page 7 - That dogs bark at me as I halt by them; Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time...
Page 6 - Our bruised arms hung up for monuments; Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds, To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber, To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
Page 197 - By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard, Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers, Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond.
Page 27 - Was ever woman in this humour woo'd ? Was ever woman in this humour won ? I'll have her, but I will not keep her long.
Page 197 - I shall despair. — There is no creature loves me ; And if I die, no soul shall pity me : — Nay, wherefore should they? since that I myself Find in myself no pity to myself.
Page vii - The Tragedy of King Richard the Third. Containing, His treacherous Plots against his brother Clarence : the pittiefull murther of his innocent nephewes : His tyrannicall vsurpation : with the whole course of his detested life, and most deserucd death. As it hath beene lately acted by the Right honourable the Lord Chamberlaine, his seruants.
Page 49 - With that grim ferryman which poets write of, Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger soul, Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick ; Who cried aloud, " What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence...

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