Shakespeare's Henry viii, with notes, examination papers, and plan of preparation

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W. & R. Chambers, 1884 - 116 Seiten

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Seite 61 - Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me, Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell; And, when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And sleep in dull cold marble...
Seite 59 - Why, well ; Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. I know myself now ; and I feel within me A peace above all earthly dignities, A still and quiet conscience.
Seite 85 - She shall be lov'd and fear'd: her own shall bless her; Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, And hang their heads with sorrow: good grows with her; In her days every man shall eat in safety Under his own vine what he plants, and sing The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours. God shall be truly known, and those about her From her shall read the perfect ways of honour, And by those claim their greatness, not by blood.
Seite 67 - He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one; Exceeding wise, fair spoken and persuading: Lofty and sour to them that lov'd him not, But to those men that sought him, sweet as summer. And though he were unsatisfied in getting, Which was a sin, yet in bestowing, madam, He was most princely...
Seite 85 - Her ashes new create another heir, As great in admiration as herself; So shall she leave her blessedness to one, (When heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness,) Who, from the sacred ashes of her honour, Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was, And so stand fix'd...
Seite 66 - So went to bed : where eagerly his sickness Pursued him still ; and, three nights after this, About the hour of eight, (which he himself Foretold should be his last,) full of repentance, Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows, He gave his honours to the world again, His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace.
Seite 59 - 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 66 - O, father abbot, An old man, broken with the storms of state, Is come to lay his weary bones among ye ; Give him a little earth for charity...
Seite 61 - Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee; 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 fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr!
Seite 44 - Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing die.

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