Más kiadások - Összes megtekintése
againſt Antony Antony and Cleopatra Apem bleffed blood Brutus Caffio cauſe Clown Coriolanus Cymbeline death deed doft thou doth Duke elfe eyes falfe father fear feem feen fhall fhew fhould firft fleep fmiles fome fool forrow foul fpeak fpirit friends ftand ftill ftrange fuch fweet fword Gentlemen of Verona give grace Hamlet hath hear heart heaven Henry IV himſelf honour Iago Ibid itſelf King Henry King Lear King Richard King Richard III Lady Lear look Lord Macb Macbeth mafter Meafure Merchant of Venice moft moſt mufic muft muſt myſelf never night noble Othello pleaſe Pleb poor prefent Prince reafon Romeo ſhall ſhe ſpeak ſweet tears tell thee thefe theſe thine thing thofe thoſe thou art thouſand Timon Timon of Athens tongue uſe whofe Winter's Tale
282. oldal - I tell you that which you yourselves do know; Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor poor dumb mouths, And bid them speak for me: but were I Brutus, And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony Would ruffle up your spirits and put a tongue In every wound of Caesar that should move The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.
149. oldal - I hate him for he is a Christian ; But more for that in low simplicity He lends out money gratis, and brings down The rate of usance here with us in Venice. If I can catch him once upon the hip, I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.
137. oldal - tis done, then 'twere well It were done quickly; if the assassination Could trammel up the consequence, and catch With his surcease success : that but this blow Might be the be-all and the end-all here, But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, We'd jump the life to come.
199. oldal - Tis but an hour ago since it was nine, And after one hour more 'twill be eleven ; And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot; And thereby hangs a tale.
82. oldal - The lunatic, the lover and the poet Are of imagination all compact: One sees more devils than vast hell can hold, That is, the madman: the lover, all as frantic, Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt: The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven; And as imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing A local habitation and a name.
54. oldal - Tears in his eyes, distraction in 's aspect, A broken voice, and his whole function suiting With forms to his conceit? and all for nothing! For Hecuba ! What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her?
67. oldal - Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form; Then, have I reason to be fond of grief ? Fare you well: had you such a loss as I, I could give better comfort than you do.
89. oldal - Heaven doth with us as we with torches do, Not light them for themselves ; for if our virtues Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike As if we had them not.
281. oldal - O, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us. O, now you weep ; and, I perceive, you feel The dint of pity : these are gracious drops. Kind souls, what weep you, when you but behold Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look you here, Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors.