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Seite 119 - Hie thee hither, That I may pour my spirits in thine ear ; And chastise with the valour of my tongue All that impedes thee from the golden round, Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem To have thee crown'd withal.
Seite 124 - Here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.
Seite 51 - Pity it is, that the momentary beauties flowing from an harmonious elocution, cannot like those of poetry be their own record! That the animated graces of the player can live no longer than the instant breath and motion that presents them; or at best can but faintly glimmer through the memory, or imperfect attestation of a few surviving spectators.
Seite 122 - Are you a man ? MACB. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that Which might appal the devil. LADY M. O proper stuff ! This is the very painting of your fear : This is the air-drawn dagger which, you said, Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws and starts, Impostors to true fear, would well become A woman's story at a winter's fire, Authorized by her grandam. Shame itself ! Why do you make such faces ? When all 's done, You look but on a stool.
Seite 120 - I have given suck, and know How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me: I would, while it was smiling in my face, Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums, And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as you Have done to this.
Seite 180 - Page. Madam, there is a lady in your hall, Who begs to be admitted to your presence. Lady. Is it not one of our invited friends? Page. No, far unlike to them ; it is a stranger. Lady. How looks her countenance ? Page.
Seite 123 - Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck, Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night, Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day, And with thy bloody and invisible hand Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond Which keeps me pale! Light thickens, and the crow...
Seite 121 - Nought's had, all's spent, Where our desire is got without content : 'Tis safer to be that which we destroy Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.