The Dramatic Works of William Shakspeare: To which are Added His Miscellaneous Poems ...

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460. oldal - I cannot tell what you and other men Think of this life, but, for my single self, I had as lief not be as live to be In awe of such a thing as I myself. I was born free as Caesar ; so were you : We both have fed as well, and we can both Endure the winter's cold as well as he : For once, upon a raw and gusty day, The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores, Caesar said to me ' Dar'st thou, Cassius, now Leap in with me into this angry flood, And swim to yonder point ? ' Upon the word, Accoutred as I...
479. oldal - Cowards die many times before their deaths ; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear ; Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come, when it will come.
240. oldal - This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under me; and now has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
92. oldal - I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them...
320. oldal - In monumental mockery. Take the instant way; For honour travels in a strait so narrow, Where one but goes abreast: keep then the path; For emulation hath a thousand sons That one by one pursue: if you give way, Or hedge aside from the direct forthright, Like to an enter'd tide they all rush by And leave you hindmost: Or, like a gallant horse fall'n in first rank, Lie there for pavement to the abject rear, O'er-run and trampled on...
112. oldal - I have pass'da miserable night, So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights, That, as I am a Christian faithful man, I would not spend another such a night, Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days, — So full of dismal terror was the time.
240. oldal - O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours ! There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or women have; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again.

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