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The Dramatic Works of William Shakespeare: Romeo and Juliet
William Shakespeare,Isaac Reed
Nincs elérhető előnézet - 2016
Antony Attendants bear better blood bring Brutus Cæsar Cassio Cleo comes daughter dead dear death dost doth Enter Erit Exeunt Exit eyes face fair fall father fear follow fool fortune friends Gent give Glou gods gone grace hand hast hath head hear heart heaven hence hold honest honour I'll Iago keep Kent kind king lady Lear leave light live look lord Macb madam married master means mind nature never night noble Nurse peace play poor pray present queen Romeo SCENE serve sleep soul speak stand stay sweet sword tell thank thee There's thine thing thou thou art thought true villain wife
298. oldal - tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles And by opposing end them. To die, to sleep...
310. oldal - Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me! You would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass: and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ. Yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe?
179. oldal - I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts. I am no orator, as Brutus is, But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man That love my friend, and that they know full well That gave me public leave to speak of him. For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech To stir men's blood.
299. oldal - The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin ? who would fardels * bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after...
388. oldal - If it be you that stir these daughters' hearts Against their father, fool me not so much To bear it tamely : touch me with noble anger ! And let not women's weapons, water-drops, Stain my man's cheeks !— No, you unnatural hags, I will have such revenges on you both, That all the world shall — I will do such things — What they are yet I know not ; but they shall be The terrors of the earth.
290. oldal - I have of late — but wherefore I know not — lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises ; and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory ; this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.
303. oldal - That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger To sound what stop she please. Give me that man That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, As I do thee.
265. oldal - Nor the dejected haviour of the visage, Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief, That can denote me truly : these indeed seem, For they are actions that a man might play : But I have that within which passeth show ; These but the trappings and the suits of woe.
251. oldal - I have lived long enough : my way of life Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf ; And that which should accompany old age, As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, I must not look to have ; but, in their stead, Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath, Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not.
141. oldal - O, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements, To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, Your infants in your arms, and there have sat The live-long day, with patient expectation, To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome: And when you saw his chariot but appear, Have you not made an universal shout, That Tiber trembled underneath her banks, To hear the replication of your sounds, Made in her concave shores?