The Plays of William Shakespeare: With Notes of Various Commentators, Volumul 9G. Kearsley [Printed, 1806 |
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Pagina 337
... Paris bleed : ' tis but a scai to scorn ; Paris is gor'd with Menelaus ' horn . [ Alarum . Ene . Hark ! what good sport is out of town to- day ! Tro . Better at home , if would I might , were may.— But , to the sport abroad ; -Are you ...
... Paris bleed : ' tis but a scai to scorn ; Paris is gor'd with Menelaus ' horn . [ Alarum . Ene . Hark ! what good sport is out of town to- day ! Tro . Better at home , if would I might , were may.— But , to the sport abroad ; -Are you ...
Pagina 341
... Paris . Cres . Why , Paris hath colour enough . Pan . So he has . Cres . Then Troilus should have too much if she prais'd him above , his complexion is higher than his ; he having colour enough , and the other higher , is too flaming a ...
... Paris . Cres . Why , Paris hath colour enough . Pan . So he has . Cres . Then Troilus should have too much if she prais'd him above , his complexion is higher than his ; he having colour enough , and the other higher , is too flaming a ...
Pagina 342
... Paris . Cres . Thap she's a merry Greek , indeed . Pan . Nay , I am sure she does . She came to him the other day into the compass'd window , —and , you know , he has not past three or four hairs on his chin . Cres . Indeed , a ...
... Paris . Cres . Thap she's a merry Greek , indeed . Pan . Nay , I am sure she does . She came to him the other day into the compass'd window , —and , you know , he has not past three or four hairs on his chin . Cres . Indeed , a ...
Pagina 344
... Paris , my husband ? The forked one , quoth he ; pluck it out , and give it him . But , there was such laughing ! and Helen so blush'd , and Paris so chafed , and all the rest so laugh'd , that it pass'd . Cres . So let it now ; for it ...
... Paris , my husband ? The forked one , quoth he ; pluck it out , and give it him . But , there was such laughing ! and Helen so blush'd , and Paris so chafed , and all the rest so laugh'd , that it pass'd . Cres . So let it now ; for it ...
Pagina 345
... PARIS passes over . Pan . Swords ? any thing , he cares not : an the de- vil come to him , it's all one : By god's lid , it does one's heart good : -Yonder comes Paris , yonder comes Paris : look ye yonder , niece ; Is't TROILUS AND ...
... PARIS passes over . Pan . Swords ? any thing , he cares not : an the de- vil come to him , it's all one : By god's lid , it does one's heart good : -Yonder comes Paris , yonder comes Paris : look ye yonder , niece ; Is't TROILUS AND ...
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The Plays of William Shakespeare: With Notes of Various Commentators, Ediția 9 William Shakespeare Vizualizare fragmente - 1806 |
Termeni și expresii frecvente
Achilles Æneas Agam Agamemnon Ajax Anne Antenor blood brother Buck Buckingham Calchas cardinal Cate Catesby Cham Clar Clarence conscience Cres Cressida Crom curse death Diomed Dorset doth Duch duke Edward Eliz Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair Farewell father fear fool friends Gent gentle give Gloster grace Grecian Greeks Hast hath hear heart heaven Hect Hector Helen honour i'the JOHNSON Kath King RICHARD king's lady live look lord Lord Chamberlain lord Hastings Lovell madam Menelaus Murd Neoptolemus Nest Nestor noble Norfolk o'the Pandarus Patr Patroclus peace pray Priam prince queen Rich Richm Richmond royal SCENE Shakspeare sir Thomas Sir THOMAS LOVELL sorrow soul speak Stan STEEVENS sweet sword tell tent thee Ther There's Thersites thou art to-morrow Troilus Troilus and Cressida Trojan Troy trumpets Ulyss uncle unto Wolsey York
Pasaje populare
Pagina 259 - Farewell ! a long farewell, to all my greatness ! This is the state of man : to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him . The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, And, — when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a-ripening, — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do.
Pagina 349 - Take but degree away, untune that string, And, hark ! what discord follows ; each thing meets In mere oppugnancy : the bounded waters Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores, And make a sop of all this solid globe : Strength should be lord of imbecility, And the rude son should strike his father dead : Force should be right ; or rather, right and wrong, Between whose endless jar justice resides, Should lose their names, and so should justice too.
Pagina 403 - Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, A great-siz'd monster of ingratitudes : Those scraps are good deeds past; which are devour'd As fast as they are made, forgot as soon As done : Perseverance, dear my lord, Keeps honour bright : To have done, is to hang Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail In monumental mockery.
Pagina 271 - An old man, broken with the storms of state, Is come to lay his weary bones among ye ; Give him a little earth for charity...
Pagina 38 - I have pass'da miserable night, So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights, That, as I am a Christian faithful man, I would not spend another such a night, Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days ; So full of dismal terror was the time.
Pagina 348 - Observe degree, priority, and place, Insisture, course, proportion, season, form, Office, and custom, in all line of order...
Pagina 173 - I COME no more to make you laugh ; things now, That bear a weighty and a serious brow. Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe, Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow, We now present.
Pagina 427 - Fie, fie upon her ! There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip, Nay, her foot speaks ; her wanton spirits look out At every joint and motive of her body.
Pagina 348 - And posts, like the commandment of a king, Sans check, to good and bad: But when the planets, In evil mixture, to disorder wander, What plagues, and what portents ! what mutiny ! What raging of the sea ! shaking of earth ! Commotion in the winds ! frights, changes, horrors, Divert and crack, rend and deracinate The unity and married calm of states | Quite from their fixture!
Pagina 262 - Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries ; but thou hast forced me, Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. Let's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me, Cromwell ; And — when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me more must be heard of — say, I taught thee...