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Academici adeo alia aliquando aliud animi animo arbitror cauſa certe comædia conſtat cujus denique dramate dramatici dramatis eadem effe eodem eorum erit eſſe eſt Etenim fabula fæpe fane fatis fere fibi fieri five folum funt genere gratia hæc hanc hiſce homines hominum hujuſmodi igitur illa illam ille illi illis illud illum imagines ingenii ingenium inquit ipſa iſta iſtis Itaque locum magis maxime mihi minus mores multa naturæ naturam neque nihil nimirum niſi nomine nonnunquam nullo nunc oculis omni omnibus omnino omnium parte pene penitus plerumque poeta poetæ poetarum poetis porro potius præ præcipue profecto propter prorſus quæ quædam quaſi quicquid Quin quippe quis quorum quos ratio ratione rebus rerum ſcenis ſed ſemper ſua ſunt tamen tanquam tantum verum videtur vobis γαρ δε εν και
239. oldal - The times have been That, when the brains were out, the man would die, And there an end ; but now they rise again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our stools.
230. oldal - Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun.
251. oldal - And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. Duch. Alas ! poor Richard ! where rides he the while ? York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men, After a well-graced actor leaves the stage, Are idly bent on him that enters next, Thinking his prattle to be tedious : Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes Did scowl on Richard ; no man cried, God save him...
256. oldal - Dar'st thou, Cassius, now Leap in with me into this angry flood, And swim to yonder point?' Upon the word, Accoutred as I was, I plunged in And bade him follow; so indeed he did. The torrent...
254. oldal - I remember when the fight was done, When I was dry with rage and extreme toil, Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, Came there a certain lord, neat, and trimly dress'd, Fresh as a bridegroom, and his chin new reap'd Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home.
254. oldal - But, I remember, when the fight was done, When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil, Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, Came there a certain lord, neat...
302. oldal - No traveller returns, puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of?
236. oldal - Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee: — I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not , fatal vision , sensible To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?