Shakespeare illustrated by old authors, 1. rész

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61. oldal - Tis not due yet ; I would be loath to pay him before his day. What need I be so forward with him that calls not on me ? Well, 'tis no matter ; honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on? how then? Can honour set to a leg? no : or an arm ? no : or take away the grief of a wound 1 no.
36. oldal - But love, first learned in a lady's eyes, Lives not alone immured in the brain; But, with the motion of all elements, Courses as swift as thought in every power, And gives to every power a double power, Above their functions and their offices.
25. oldal - If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber'd here, While these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding but a dream, Gentles, do not reprehend : If you pardon, we will mend.
63. oldal - Upon the king ! let us our lives, our souls, Our debts, our careful wives, our children, and Our sins, lay on the king !—we must bear all. 0 hard condition ! twin-born with greatness, Subject to the breath of every fool, Whose sense no more can feel but his own wringing ! What infinite heart's ease must kings neglect, That private men enjoy!
20. oldal - Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid ; Fly away, fly away, breath ; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it; My part of death no one so true Did share it.
34. oldal - From women's eyes this doctrine I derive: They sparkle still the right Promethean fire ; They are the books, the arts, the academes, That show, contain, and nourish all the world...
62. oldal - Through tatter'd clothes small vices do appear; Robes and furr'd gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold, And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks: Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw does pierce it.
9. oldal - This is the excellent foppery of the world, that, when we are sick in fortune, — often the surfeit of our own behaviour, — we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars...
8. oldal - Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, A great-sized monster of ingratitudes : Those scraps are good deeds past ; which are devoured As fast as they are made, forgot as soon As done.
31. oldal - It is merely a lust of the blood, and a permission of the will.

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