Illustrations of Shakespeare and of Ancient Manners: With Dissertations on the Clowns and Fools of Shakespeare ; on the Collection of Popular Tales Entitled Gesta Romanorum, and on the English Morris Dance

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T. Tegg, 1839 - 631 oldal
 

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xvii. oldal - A strange fish! Were I in England now, as once I was, and had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver. There would this monster make a man. Any strange beast there makes a man. When they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian.
185. oldal - I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano ; A stage, where every man must play a part, And mine a sad one.
423. oldal - If thine enemy be hungry, give him bread to eat; and if he be thirsty, give him water to drink: 22 For thou shall heap coals of fire upon his head, and the LORD shall reward thee.
12. oldal - Hence, bashful cunning ! And prompt me, plain and holy innocence ! I am your wife, if you will marry me ; If not, I'll die your maid : to be your fellow You may deny me ; but I'll be your servant, Whether you will or no.
258. oldal - I'll read you matter deep and dangerous ; As full of peril and adventurous spirit As to o'er-walk a current roaring loud On the unsteadfast footing of a spear.
xvii. oldal - All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea. Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept (As 'twere in scorn of eyes,) reflecting gems, That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.
122. oldal - That the graves, all gaping wide, Every one lets forth his sprite, In the church-way paths to glide : And we fairies, that do run By the triple Hecate's team...
229. oldal - Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full Of direst cruelty! make thick...
380. oldal - Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie Without a monument, bring thee all this ; Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none, To winter-ground thy corse.
264. oldal - I cannot blame him : at my nativity The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, Of burning cressets ; and at my birth The frame and huge foundation of the earth Shak'd like a coward.

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