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Aumerle Baptista Bast Bianca Bion Bishop of Carlisle blood Bohemia Boling Bolingbroke breath Camillo Count cousin daughter dear death doth Duke duke of Hereford Eaceunt Eacit Enter eyes fair faith Farewell father Faulconbridge fear fool France friends Gaunt Gent gentle gentleman give grief Grumio hand hath hear heart heaven hither honour Hortensio Illyria John Kate KATHARINA king knave lady Leon look lord Lucentio Madam maid majesty Malvolio marry master mistress never noble Padua pardon peace Petruchio pr’ythee pray prince queen Re-enter Rich Ring Rousillon SCENE Servant Shep Sicilia signior Sir ANDREw AGUE-cheek Sir Toby Sir Toby BELCH Sirrah soul speak swear sweet tell thee thine thou art thou hast tongue Tranio wife word
70. oldal - Richard : no man cried , God save him ; No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home; But dust was thrown upon his sacred head , Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off, His face still combating with tears and smiles, The badges of his grief and patience, That had not God , for some strong purpose , steel'd The hearts of men , they must perforce have melted , And barbarism itself have pitied him.
54. oldal - But nature makes that mean: so, o'er that art, Which you say adds to nature, is an art That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock, And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of nobler race: this is an art Which does mend nature, — change it rather; but The art itself is nature.
28. oldal - A blank, my lord. She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek : she pin'd in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat like Patience on a monument, Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed ? We men may say more, swear more ; but indeed Our shows are more than will, for still we prove Much in our vows, but little in our love. Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy ? Vio.
59. oldal - The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together: our virtues would be proud, if our faults whipped them not, and our crimes would despair, if they were not cherished by our virtues.
51. oldal - My figur'd goblets for a dish of wood, My sceptre for a palmer's walking-staff, My subjects for a pair of carved saints, And my large kingdom for a little grave, A little little grave, an obscure grave : Or I'll be buried in the king's highway, Some way of common trade, where subjects...
55. oldal - O Proserpina, For the flowers now, that frighted thou let'st fall From Dis's waggon ! daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty ; violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath ; pale primroses, That die unmarried, ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength — a malady Most incident to maids ; bold...