What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
Other editions - View all
Ariel Ben Jonson Caius Caliban Cotgrave daugh daughter devil dost doth drama Duke editor Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fairies Falstaff father fool Ford gentleman give hand hath hear heart heaven honour Host Hugh Evans Illyria Julia knave lady Laun letter lord madam Malone Malvolio Marry master Brook master doctor means Milan mind Mira mistress Ford never night Olivia play Poet pr'ythee pray Prospero Proteus Quick SCENE servant Shak Shakspeare Shakspeare's Shal Silvia Sir Andrew Sir Andrew Ague-cheek Sir Hugh Sir John Sir John Falstaff Sir Toby Sir Toby Belch Slen Slender speak Speed spirit Steevens Stratford Susanna Hall sweet Sycorax tell thee there's thou art thou hast Thurio Trin Trinculo Twelfth Night unto Valentine Windsor woman word
Page 47 - Were I in England now, (as once I was,) and had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver: there would this monster make a man; any strange beast there makes a man: when they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. Legg'd like a man! and his fins like arms! Warm, o
Page 295 - O fellow, come, the song we had last night: Mark it, Cesario; it is old and plain: The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, And the free maids that weave their thread with bones, Do use to chant it ; it is silly sooth, And dallies with the innocence of love, Like the old age.
Page 67 - O, it is monstrous, monstrous ! Methought the billows spoke, and told me of it ; The winds did sing it to me ; and the thunder. That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc'd The name of Prosper : it did bass my trespass. Therefore my son i' th' ooze is bedded ; and I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded, And with him there lie mudded.
Page 102 - Nature's family. Yet must I not give Nature all : thy art My gentle Shakespeare, must enjoy a part. For though the poet's matter, Nature be, His art doth give the fashion. And, that he, Who casts to write a living line, must sweat, (Such as thine are) and strike the second heat Upon the Muse's anvil : turn the same, (And himself with it) that he thinks to frame ; Or for the laurel, he may gain a scorn, For a good poet's made, as well as born. And such wert thou.
Page 157 - Who is Silvia ? what is she, That all our swains commend her ? Holy, fair, and wise is she, The heaven such grace did lend her, That she might admired' be. Is she kind as she is fair ? For beauty lives with kindness : Love doth to her eyes repair, To help him of his blindness; And, being helped, inhabits there.
Page 334 - Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid ; Fly away, fly away, breath ; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it ! My part of death, no one so true Did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweet, On my black coffin let there be strown ; Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown : A thousand thousand sighs to save, Lay me, O, where Sad true lover never find my grave, To weep there ! Duke.
Page 91 - All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress
Page 82 - The charm dissolves apace ; And as the morning steals upon the night, Melting the darkness, so their rising senses Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle Their clearer reason.