The dramatic works of William Shakspeare, with notes original and selected by S.W. Singer, and a life of the poet by C. Symmons, Band 2

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1842
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Seite 33 - Too late ? why, no ; I, that do speak a word, May call it back again. Well, believe this, No ceremony that to great ones 'longs, • Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword, The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe, Become them with one half so good a grace As mercy does.
Seite 212 - Swift as a shadow, short as any dream, Brief as the lightning in the collied night, That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, And ere a man hath power to say, — Behold!
Seite 148 - When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married.
Seite 328 - Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that are bred in a book; He hath not eat paper, as it were; he hath not drunk ink. His intellect is not replenished; he is only an animal, only sensible in the duller parts...
Seite 210 - But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd, Than that which, withering on the virgin thorn, Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness.
Seite 51 - Ay, but to die, and go we know not where ; To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot ; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod ; and the delighted...
Seite 346 - Never durst poet touch a pen to write, Until his ink were temper'd with love's sighs; O, then his lines would ravish savage ears, And plant in tyrants mild humility. From women's eyes this doctrine I derive: They sparkle still the right Promethean fire; They are the books, the arts, the academes, That shew, contain, and nourish all the world...
Seite 21 - Our doubts are traitors^ And make us lose the good we oft might win, By fearing to attempt : Go to lord Angelo, And let him learn to know, when maidens sue.
Seite 262 - My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind, So flew'd, so sanded ; and their heads are hung With ears that sweep away the morning dew ; Crook-knee'd and dew-lapp'd like Thessalian bulls ; Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells, Each under each. A cry more tuneable Was never holla'd to, nor cheer'd with horn, In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly : [these ? Judge, when you hear.
Seite 226 - The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid, Will make or man or woman madly dote Upon the next live creature that it sees.

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