The Plays and Poems of William Shakspeare, 10. kötet

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R. C. and J. Rivington, 1821

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130. 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 ! O, 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. You think...
247. 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.
326. oldal - Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to heaven : the fated sky Gives us free scope; only, doth backward pull Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull.
248. oldal - Lear Be your tears wet? Yes, faith. I pray, weep not: If you have poison for me, I will drink it. I know you do not love me/ for your sisters Have, as I do remember, done me wrong: YOU have some cause, they have not. Cordelia No cause, no cause.
76. oldal - Lear. O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet Heaven ! Keep me in temper : I would not be mad ! — Enter Gentleman.
230. oldal - I see it feelingly. Lear. What, art mad ? A man may see how this world goes with no eyes. Look with thine ears: see how yond justice rails upon yond simple thief.
231. oldal - Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand ! Why dost thou lash that whore? Strip thine own back; Thou hotly lust'st to use her in that kind For which thou whipp'st her.
13. oldal - Good my lord, You have begot me, bred me, lov'd me; I Return those duties back as are right fit, Obey you, love you, and most honour you. Why have my sisters husbands, if they say They love you all? Haply...
148. oldal - When the mind's free The body's delicate; the tempest in my mind Doth from my senses take all feeling else Save what beats there.
158. oldal - Is man no more than this? Consider him well. Thou owest the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume. Ha! here's three on's are sophisticated! Thou art the thing itself; unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art.

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