The plays of William Shakspeare, pr. from the text of the corrected copies left by G. Steevens and E. Malone, with a selection of notes from the most eminent commentors by A. Chalmers, Volumul 8 |
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Pagina 74
... is't you seek ? Glo . What are you there ? Your names ? web and the pin , ] Diseases of the eye . 2 Saint Withold , & c . ] i . e . Saint Withold traversing the wold or downs , met the night - mare ; he obliged her to alight from those ...
... is't you seek ? Glo . What are you there ? Your names ? web and the pin , ] Diseases of the eye . 2 Saint Withold , & c . ] i . e . Saint Withold traversing the wold or downs , met the night - mare ; he obliged her to alight from those ...
Pagina 86
... is't , my lord ? How look you ? Corn . I have receiv'd a hurt : Follow me , lady.- Turn out that eyeless villain ; -throw this slave Upon the dunghill . — Regan , I bleed apace : Untimely come this hurt : give me your arm . --- [ Exit ...
... is't , my lord ? How look you ? Corn . I have receiv'd a hurt : Follow me , lady.- Turn out that eyeless villain ; -throw this slave Upon the dunghill . — Regan , I bleed apace : Untimely come this hurt : give me your arm . --- [ Exit ...
Pagina 88
... is't can say , I am at the worst ? I am worse than e'er I was . Old Man . ' Tis poor mad Tom . Edg . [ aside . ] And worse I may be yet : The worst is not , So long as we can say , This is the worst . Old Man . Fellow , where goest ...
... is't can say , I am at the worst ? I am worse than e'er I was . Old Man . ' Tis poor mad Tom . Edg . [ aside . ] And worse I may be yet : The worst is not , So long as we can say , This is the worst . Old Man . Fellow , where goest ...
Pagina 102
... is't ? Feel you your legs ? You stand . Glo . Too well , too well . This is above all strangeness . Edg . Upon the crown o'the cliff , what thing was that Which parted from you ? Glo . A poor unfortunate beggar . Edg . As I stood here ...
... is't ? Feel you your legs ? You stand . Glo . Too well , too well . This is above all strangeness . Edg . Upon the crown o'the cliff , what thing was that Which parted from you ? Glo . A poor unfortunate beggar . Edg . As I stood here ...
Pagina 103
... Is't not the king ? Lear . Ay , every inch a king : When I do stare , see , how the subject quakes . I pardon that man's life : What was thy cause ? — Adultery.- Thou shalt not die : Die for adultery ! No : 7 That fellow handles his bow ...
... Is't not the king ? Lear . Ay , every inch a king : When I do stare , see , how the subject quakes . I pardon that man's life : What was thy cause ? — Adultery.- Thou shalt not die : Die for adultery ! No : 7 That fellow handles his bow ...
Termeni și expresii frecvente
ancient art thou BENVOLIO better blood Brabantio CAPULET Cassio Cordelia Corn Cyprus daughter dead dear death Denmark Desdemona dost thou doth Duke Edmund Emil EMILIA Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair Farewell father fear fool Fortinbras friar Gent gentleman give Gloster GONERIL GUILDENSTERN Hamlet hath hear heart heaven hither honest honour Horatio i'the Iago is't JOHNSON Juliet Kent king knave lady Laer Laertes Lear look lord madam MALONE Mantua marry matter means Mercutio Michael Cassio Moor murder never night noble Nurse o'er Ophelia Othello play poison'd POLONIUS poor Pr'ythee pray Queen Roderigo Romeo SCENE Shakspeare signifies soul speak sweet sword tell thee there's thine thing thou art thou hast thought to-night Tybalt villain wife word
Pasaje populare
Pagina 399 - tis not to come ; if it be not to come, it will be now ; if it be not now, yet it will come : the readiness is all.
Pagina 325 - O, there be players that I have seen play, and heard others praise, and that highly, not to speak it profanely, that, neither having the accent of christians, nor the gait of christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted, and bellowed, that I have thought some of Nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably.
Pagina 314 - peasant slave am I ! Is it not monstrous that this player here, But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, Could force his soul so to his own conceit That from her working all his visage wann'd ; Tears in his eyes, distraction in 's aspect, A broken voice, and his whole function suiting With forms to his conceit ? and all for nothing...
Pagina 112 - 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.
Pagina 286 - Remember thee? Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat In this distracted globe. Remember thee? Yea, from the table of my memory I'll wipe away all trivial fond records, All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past, That youth and observation copied there; And.
Pagina 169 - But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks! It is the east, and Juliet is the sun ! — Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid art far more fair than she...
Pagina 339 - Tis now the very witching time of night ; When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world : Now could I drink hot blood, And do such business as the bitter day Would quake to look on.
Pagina 118 - 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...
Pagina 306 - ... this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me, than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors.
Pagina 386 - Alas, poor Yorick! — I knew him, Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy, he hath 'borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how 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?