The Dramatic Works, Volume 1 |
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Page 2
... husband . Judith , Shakspeare's but a few years , in consequence of a disagreement youngest daughter , was married to Mr. Thomas with the inhabitants of Stratford . As he resided Quiney , and died Feb. 1661-2 , in her 77th year . part ...
... husband . Judith , Shakspeare's but a few years , in consequence of a disagreement youngest daughter , was married to Mr. Thomas with the inhabitants of Stratford . As he resided Quiney , and died Feb. 1661-2 , in her 77th year . part ...
Page 17
... husband then ? Fer . Ay , with a heart as willing As bondage e'er of freedom : here's my hand . Mira . And mine , with my heart in't : And now Pro . Poor worm ! thou art infected ; This visitation shows it . Mira . farewell , You look ...
... husband then ? Fer . Ay , with a heart as willing As bondage e'er of freedom : here's my hand . Mira . And mine , with my heart in't : And now Pro . Poor worm ! thou art infected ; This visitation shows it . Mira . farewell , You look ...
Page 24
... husband find at Tunis ; And Ferdinand , her brother , found a wife , Where he himself was lost ; Prospero his dukedom , In a poor isle ; and all of us , ourselves , When no man was his own . Alon . Give me your hands : [ To Fer . and ...
... husband find at Tunis ; And Ferdinand , her brother , found a wife , Where he himself was lost ; Prospero his dukedom , In a poor isle ; and all of us , ourselves , When no man was his own . Alon . Give me your hands : [ To Fer . and ...
Page 50
... husband's purse ; she hath legions of an- gels.a Pist . As many devils entertain ; and , To her , boy , say I. Nym . The humour rises ; it is good : humour me the angels . Fal . I have writ me here a letter to her : and here another to ...
... husband's purse ; she hath legions of an- gels.a Pist . As many devils entertain ; and , To her , boy , say I. Nym . The humour rises ; it is good : humour me the angels . Fal . I have writ me here a letter to her : and here another to ...
Page 52
... husband saw this let- ter ! it would give eternal food to his jealousy . Mrs. Page . Why , look , where he comes ; and my good man too : he's as far from jealousy , as I am from giving him cause ; and that , I hope , is an unmeasurable ...
... husband saw this let- ter ! it would give eternal food to his jealousy . Mrs. Page . Why , look , where he comes ; and my good man too : he's as far from jealousy , as I am from giving him cause ; and that , I hope , is an unmeasurable ...
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The Dramatic Works: From The Test Of Johnson, Stevens, And Reed ..., Volume 1 William Shakespeare No preview available - 2019 |
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Popular passages
Page 209 - Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, — The seasons' difference : as the icy fang And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say, This is no flattery : these are counsellors That feelingly persuade me what I am.
Page 446 - That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you. Be copy now to men of grosser blood, • And teach them how to war. And you, good yeomen, Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture; let us swear That you are worth your breeding, which I doubt not; For there is none of you so mean and base, ) That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game's afoot! Follow your spirit, and upon this charge Cry,...
Page 23 - Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air : And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on ; and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.
Page 213 - Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lin'd, With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances ; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and...
Page 419 - Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains In cradle of the rude imperious surge ; And in the visitation of the winds, Who take the ruffian billows by the top, Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them With deafning clamours in the slippery clouds, That, with the hurly, death itself awakes ? Canst thou, O partial sleep!
Page 336 - 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.
Page 185 - How like a fawning publican he looks! I hate him for he is a Christian : But more for that, in low simplicity, He lends out money gratis, and brings down The rate of usance here with us in Venice.
Page 329 - The times have been That, when the brains were out, the man would die, And there an end ; but now they rise again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our stools.
Page 25 - I have bedimm'd The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault Set roaring war; to the dread rattling thunder Have I given fire and rifted Jove's stout oak With his own bolt, the strong-bas'd promontory Have I made shake and by the spurs pluck'd up The pine and cedar; graves at my command Have wak'd their sleepers, op'd and let 'em forth By my so potent Art.
Page 373 - 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...