Characters of Shakespear's Plays

Első borító
C.H. Reynell, 1817 - 352 oldal
 

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Kiválasztott oldalak

Tartalomjegyzék

I
vii
II
1
III
15
IV
33
V
42
VI
61
VII
69
VIII
83
XIX
226
XX
237
XXI
243
XXII
255
XXIII
265
XXIV
269
XXV
278
XXVI
287

IX
95
X
103
XI
115
XII
126
XIII
135
XIV
153
XV
178
XVI
188
XVII
203
XVIII
215
XXVII
293
XXVIII
298
XXIX
305
XXX
312
XXXI
320
XXXII
327
XXXIII
331
XXXIV
335
XXXV
346

Más kiadások - Összes megtekintése

Gyakori szavak és kifejezések

Népszerű szakaszok

174. oldal - I'll kneel down, And ask of thee forgiveness. So we'll live, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues Talk of court news ; and we'll talk with them too, Who loses,- and who wins ; who's in, who's out ; And take...
222. oldal - All murder'd: for within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king Keeps Death his court and there the antic sits, Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp, Allowing him a breath, a little scene, To monarchize, be fear'd and kill with looks...
351. oldal - When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself, and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd, Desiring this man's art and that man's scope...
259. oldal - A blank, my lord. She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i...
36. oldal - Would he were fatter: — But I fear him not. Yet if my name were liable to fear, I do not know the man I should avoid So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much ; He is a great observer, and he looks Quite through the deeds of men...
187. oldal - God save him ; No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home : But dust was thrown upon his sacred head ; Which, with such gentle sorrow he shook off, His face still combating with tears and smiles, The badges of his grief and patience, That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, And barbarism itself have pitied him.
151. oldal - O my love ! my wife ! Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty : Thou art not conquer'd ; beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there.
87. oldal - O, let not virtue seek Remuneration for the thing it was ; For beauty, wit, High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service, Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all To envious and calumniating time.
352. oldal - That time of year thou may'st in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
156. oldal - This is the excellent foppery of the world, that, when we are sick in fortune, — often the surfeit of our own behaviour, — we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars...

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