Archiv für das Studium der neueren Sprachen und Literaturen, Volume 6

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Westermann, 1849 - Languages, Modern
 

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Page 11 - Is it not monstrous, that this player here, But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, Could force his soul so to his own conceit, That, from her working, all his visage wann'd ; Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect, A broken voice, and his whole function suiting With forms to his conceit ? And all for nothing ! For Hecuba ! What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her...
Page 20 - How absolute the knave is ! we must speak by the card, or equivocation will undo us. By the Lord, Horatio, these three years I have taken note of it ; the age is grown so picked that the toe of the peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier, he galls his kibe. — How long hast thou been a grave-maker? 1 Clo. Of all the days i' the year, I came to't that day that our last King Hamlet o'ercame Fortinbras.
Page 12 - Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i' the throat, As deep as to the lungs? Who does me this? Ha! Swounds, I should take it, for it cannot be But I am pigeon-liver'd, and lack gall To make oppression bitter, or ere this I should have fatted all the region kites With this slave's offal.
Page 234 - OH, where, Kincora! is Brian the Great? And where is the beauty that once was thine ? Oh, where are the princes and nobles that sate At the feast in thy halls, and drank the red wine? Where, oh, Kincora? * Kincora. Oh, where, Kincora...
Page 22 - Examples gross as earth exhort me : Witness this army of such mass and charge Led by a delicate and tender prince, Whose spirit with divine ambition puff'd Makes mouths at the invisible event, Exposing what is mortal and unsure To all that fortune, death and danger dare, Even for an egg-shell.
Page 23 - Rightly to be great Is not to stir without great argument, But greatly to find quarrel in a straw When honour's at the stake.
Page 235 - Liag, and my home is on the Lake; Thither often, to that palace whose beauty is fled Came Brian to ask me, and I went for his sake Oh, my grief! that I should live, and Brian be dead! Dead, oh, Kincora!
Page 26 - And enterprises of great pith and moment, With this regard, their currents turn away, And lose the name of action.
Page 10 - Whol'd beare the scornes and flattery of the world, Scorned by the right rich, the rich curssed of the poore?

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