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228. 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.
318. oldal - Like the poor cat i' the adage? Macb. Prithee, peace I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more is none. Lady M. What beast was't then That made you break this enterprise to me? When you durst do it, then you were a man; And, to be more than what you were, you would Be so much more the man.
315. oldal - Cannot be ill ; cannot be good : — If ill, Why hath it given me earnest of success, Commencing in a truth ? I am thane of Cawdor : If good, why do I yield to that suggestion X Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair.
104. oldal - And, to deal plainly, I fear I am not in my perfect mind. Methinks I should know you and know this man ; Yet I am doubtful ; for I am mainly ignorant What place this is, and all the skill I have Remembers not these garments, nor I know not Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me ; For, as I am a man, I think this lady To be my child Cordelia.
318. oldal - As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, And live a coward in thine own esteem, Letting "I dare not" wait upon "I would," Like the poor cat i
317. oldal - Which would be worn now in their newest gloss, Not cast aside so soon. Lady M. Was the hope drunk Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept since? And wakes it now, to look so green and pale At what it did so freely ? From this time Such I account thy love. Art thou...
291. oldal - Orpheus with his lute made trees. And the mountain-tops that freeze, Bow themselves, when he did sing : To his music, plants and flowers Ever sprung ; as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring.
152. oldal - We'll bury him; and then, what's brave, what's noble, Let's do it after the high Roman fashion, And make Death proud to take us. Come, away; This case of that huge spirit now is cold. Ah, women, women! come; we have no friend But resolution, and the briefest end.
40. oldal - But here's my husband; And so much duty as my mother show'd To you, preferring you before her father, So much I challenge that I may profess Due to the Moor, my lord.
322. oldal - Yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way. Thou wouldst be great, Art not without ambition, but without The illness should attend it. What thou wouldst highly That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false, And yet wouldst wrongly win.