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againſt anſwer Antipholis aſk becauſe beſeech beſt blood buſineſs Camillo cauſe Count doſt thou doth Dromio Duke elſe Enter Ev’n Exeunt Exit eyes falſe father Faulc Faulconbridge firſt fool France hath heav'n himſelf honeſt honour houſe huſband Illyria itſelf King Lady laſt Lord loſe loſt Madam Majeſty Malvolio maſter miſtreſs moſt muſt myſelf paſſage paſt pleaſe pray preſent purpoſe queſtion reaſon reſt S C E N E S C E N E changes ſaid ſame ſaw ſay ſee ſeems ſend ſenſe ſent ſervant ſerve ſervice ſet ſhall ſhame ſhe ſhew ſhould ſince Sir Toby ſome ſomething ſon ſoul ſpeak ſpirit ſtand ſtay ſtill ſtrange ſuch ſure ſwear ſweet ſword thee theſe thine thoſe thou art thou haſt thou ſhalt thouſand thyſelf truſt uſe whoſe wife wiſh yourſelf
Page 101 - If music be the food of love, play on ; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again ! it had a dying fall : O ! it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour.
Page 392 - 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 5 Then have I reason to be fond of grief.
Page 256 - Skulking in corners ? wishing clocks more swift ? Hours, minutes ? noon, midnight ? and all eyes blind With the pin and web,' but theirs, theirs only, That would unseen be wicked ? is this nothing ? Why, then the world, and all that's in't, is nothing; The covering sky is nothing ; Bohemia nothing; My wife is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings, If this be nothing.
Page 140 - element,' but the word is over-worn. \Exit. Vio. This fellow is wise enough to play the fool ; And to do that well craves a kind of wit : He must observe their mood on whom he jests, The quality of persons, and the time, And, like the haggard, check at every feather That comes before his eye.
Page 430 - 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.