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Seite 152 - Lear. And my poor fool is hang'd! No, no, no life! Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more, Never, never, never, never, never!
Seite 92 - O, reason not the need: our basest beggars Are in the poorest thing superfluous: Allow not nature more than nature needs, Man's life is cheap as beast's : thou art a lady ; If only to go warm were gorgeous, Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st, Which scarcely keeps thee warm.
Seite 47 - Lear. Let it be so, — thy truth, then, be thy dower : For, by the sacred radiance of the sun, The mysteries of Hecate, and the night ; By all the operation of the orbs From whom we do exist, and cease to be ; Here I disclaim all my paternal care, Propinquity and property of blood, And, as a stranger to my heart and me, Hold thee, from this, for ever.
Seite 57 - The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burn'd on the water ; the poop was beaten gold, Purple the sails, and so perfumed that The winds were love-sick with them, the oars were silver, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water which they beat to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes.
Seite 136 - LEAR. Be your tears wet? Yes, faith. I pray weep not; If you have poison for me I will drink it. I know you do not love me; for your sisters Have, as I do remember, done me wrong: You have some cause, they have not. CORDELIA. No cause, no cause.
Seite 57 - The winds were love-sick with them; the oars were silver, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water which "they beat to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes. For her own person, It...
Seite 103 - Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind ; says suum, mun ha no nonny. Dolphin my boy, my boy ; sessa ! let him trot by. [Storm still. LEAK. Why, thou wert better in thy grave than to answer with thy uncovered body this extremity of the skies. Is man no more than this? Consider him well. Thou owest the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume. Ha! here's three on's are sophisticated; thou art the thing itself; unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor, bare,...
Seite 71 - LEAR. O! let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven; keep me in temper; I would not be mad!
Seite 101 - Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you From seasons such as these ? O, I have ta'en Too little care of this ! Take physic, pomp ; Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, That thou mayst shake the superflux to them, And show the heavens more just.