Zur Entstehungsgeschichte des Schlegelschen Shakespeare

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Hirzel, 1872 - 260 Seiten

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Seite 64 - Philomel, with melody Sing in our sweet lullaby ; Lulla, lulla, lullaby, lulla, lulla, lullaby : Never harm, Nor spell nor charm, Come our lovely lady nigh ; So, good night, with lullaby.
Seite 16 - Full fathom five thy father lies; Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : Hark! now I hear them, — ding-dong, bell.
Seite 147 - Things base and vile, holding no quantity, Love can transpose to form and dignity : Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind ; And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind...
Seite 181 - Why should that name be sounded more than yours ? Write them together, yours is as fair a name; Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well; Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with 'em, "Brutus" will start a spirit as soon as "Caesar." Now, in the names of all the gods at once, Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed, That he is grown so great ? Age, thou art sham'd!
Seite 73 - These are the forgeries of jealousy : And never, since the middle summer's spring, Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead, By paved fountain or by rushy brook, Or in the beached margent of the sea, To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, But with thy brawls thou hast disturb
Seite 74 - The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose, And on old Hiems' thin and icy crown An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds Is, as in mockery, set...
Seite 75 - The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven ; And as imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing A local habitation and a name.
Seite 185 - Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me! You would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass: and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ, yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think, I am easier to be played on than a pipe...
Seite 249 - Canst thou, O partial sleep! give thy repose To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude; And, in the calmest and most stillest night, With all appliances and means to boot, Deny it to a king ? Then, happy low, lie down ! Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
Seite 69 - Since once I sat upon a promontory And heard a mermaid on a dolphin's back Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath That the rude sea grew civil at her song, 150 And certain stars shot madly from their spheres To hear the sea-maid's music.

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