The Works of Shakespeare: Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected, Band 5
C. Bathurst, 1773
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Anne arms bear better blood brother Buck Buckingham Cade Cardinal changes Clar Clarence Clifford comes crown dead death doth Duke Earl Edward England Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair fall father fear fhall fhould fight follow fome foul fpeak France friends ftand fuch gentle give Grace haft Haftings hand hath head hear heart heav'n Henry honour hope I'll King King's Lady land leave live look Lord Madam mean mind mother myſelf never noble once peace poor pray Prince Queen Rich Richard royal SCENE ſhall ſpeak Suffolk tears tell thank thee thefe theſe thine thing thou thought tongue true unto Warwick whofe wife York young
Seite 359 - This many summers in a sea of glory ; But far beyond my depth ; my high-blown pride At length broke under me ; and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
Seite 329 - tis better to be lowly born, And range with humble livers in content, Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief, And wear a golden sorrow.
Seite 190 - That dogs bark at me as I halt by them; Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun And descant on mine own deformity; And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover, To entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Seite 144 - Content!' to that which grieves my heart, And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, And frame my face to all occasions.
Seite 213 - With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears Such hideous cries, that with the very noise, I trembling wak'd, and, for a season after, Could not believe but that I was in hell; Such terrible impression made my dream.
Seite 129 - O God! methinks it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run, How many make the hour full complete; How many hours bring about the day; How many days will finish up the year; How many years a mortal man may live.
Seite 359 - This is the state of man ; To-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him : The third day, comes a frost, a killing frost ; And, — when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do.
Seite 362 - Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not : Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's and truth's ; then if thou...
Seite 359 - O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours ! There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or women have : And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again.
Seite 361 - Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition : By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then, The image of his Maker, hope to win by it ? Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee ; Corruption wins not more than honesty.