Twelfth Night, Or What You Will

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Clarendon Press, 1887 - 172 pages
 

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Contents

I
3
II
3
III
29
IV
55
V
82
VI
111
VII
122

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Page 70 - Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid ; Fly away, fly away, breath ; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it! My part of death, no one so true Did share it.
Page 30 - If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it ; that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again ; — it had a dying fall : O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing, and giving odour.
Page 24 - O ! they have lived long on the alms-basket of words. I marvel thy master hath not eaten thee for a word ; for thou art not so long by the head as honorificabilitudinitatibus: thou art easier swallowed than a flap-dragon.
Page 3 - At our feast we had a play called ' Twelfth Night or What you Will, much like the Comedy of Errors or Menechmi in Plautus, but most like and near to that in Italian called Inganni.
Page 19 - Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on...
Page 88 - O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful In the contempt and anger of his lip ! A murd'rous guilt shows not itself more soon Than love that would seem hid : love's night is noon.
Page 61 - O, mistress mine, where are you roaming? O stay and hear ; your true love's coming, That can sing both high and low : Trip no further, pretty sweeting; Journeys end in lovers' meeting, Every wise man's son doth know.
Page 53 - Holla your name to the reverberate hills, And make the babbling gossip of the air Cry out, Olivia ! O, you should not rest Between the elements of air and earth, But you should pity me.
Page 15 - Dreams, books, are each a world ; and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good : Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow.

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