Shakespeare's Tragedy of HamletJ. M. Dent & Company, 1903 - 215 oldal |
Más kiadások - Összes megtekintése
Gyakori szavak és kifejezések
arms arras aught blood breath Cæsar Dane dead dear death Denmark dost doth drink drown'd earth Edition Enter Hamlet Enter King Exeunt Rosencrantz Exit Exit Ghost eyes Farewell father fear follow Fortinbras friends gentleman Gertrude Ghost give grace grief Guil hast hath hear heart heaven Hecuba hold honour Horatio Jephthah Julius Cæsar lady Laer Laertes leave look Lord Hamlet madness majesty Marcellus mother murder nature night noble Norway o'er Omitted in Ff omitted in Qq Ophelia Osric passion play players poison'd Polack pollax Polonius pray Pyrrhus Quarto Queen revenge Reynaldo Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Scene Senecan Shakespeare's Sings sleep soul Spanish Tragedy speak speech sweet sweet lord sword tell thee There's thine thing thou thought tongue twere vide words ΙΟ
Népszerű szakaszok
78. 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?
82. oldal - The expectancy and rose of the fair state, The glass of fashion and the mould of form, The observed of all observers, quite, quite down ! And I, of ladies most deject and wretched, That suck'd the honey of his music vows, Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh...
157. oldal - ... abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. — Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chop-fallen? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that. — Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing. HOR. What's that, my lord?...
51. oldal - tis true, 'tis true, 'tis pity ; And pity 'tis, 'tis true : a foolish figure ; But farewell it, for I will use no art. Mad let us grant him then : and now remains, That we find out the cause of this effect ; Or, rather say, the cause of this defect ; For this effect, defective, comes by cause : Thus it remains, and the remainder thus.
29. oldal - By the o'ergrowth of some complexion, Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason, Or by some habit that too much o'er-leavens The form of plausive manners, that these men, Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect, Being nature's livery, or fortune's star, — Their virtues else, be they as pure as grace, As infinite as man may undergo — Shall in the general censure take corruption From that particular fault : the dram of eale Doth all the noble substance of a doubt To his own scandal.
161. oldal - Dost thou come here to whine ? To outface me with leaping in her grave ? Be buried quick with her, and so will I : And, if thou prate of mountains, let them throw Millions of acres on us, till our ground, Singeing his pate against the burning zone, Make Ossa like a wart ! Nay, an thou'lt mouth, I'll rant as well as thou.
87. 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.
56. oldal - Slanders, sir : for the satirical rogue says here that old men have grey beards, that their faces are wrinkled, their eyes purging thick amber and plum-tree gum, and that they have a plentiful lack of wit, together with most weak hams : all which, sir, though I most powerfully and potently believe, yet I hold it not honesty to have it thus set down; for yourself, sir, should be old as I am, if like a crab you could go backward.
115. oldal - Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven; Repent what's past; avoid what is to come; And do not spread the compost on the weeds, To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue; For in the fatness of these pursy times Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg, Yea, curb and woo for leave to do him good.