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Seite 103 - Give me leave. Here lies the water ; good : here stands the man ; good : If the man go to this water, and drown himself, it is, will he, nill he, he goes ; mark you that ? but if the water come to him, and drown him, he drowns not himself: argal, he that is not guilty of his own death, shortens not his own life. 2 Clo. But is this law ? 1 Clo. Ay, marry is 't ; crowner's-quest law. 2 Clo. Will you ha...
Seite 61 - With a bare bodkin ? who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life ; But that the dread of something after death, — The undiscovered country, from whose bourn No traveller returns, — puzzles the will ; And makes us rather bear those ills we have, Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ; And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ; And enterprises of great pith and moment, With this regard, their...
Seite 71 - And hitherto doth love on fortune tend : For who not needs shall never lack a friend ; And who in want a hollow friend doth try, Directly seasons him his enemy. But, orderly to end where I begun, — Our wills and fates do so contrary run That our devices still are overthrown ; Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own : So think thou wilt no second husband wed ; But die thy thoughts when thy first lord is dead.
Seite 51 - The best actors in the world, either for tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, tragical-comical-historical-pastoral, scene individable, or poem unlimited : Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor Plautus too light. For the law of writ and the liberty, these are the only men.
Seite 60 - The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despis'd 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?
Seite 110 - 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.
Seite 87 - Ecstasy! My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, And makes as healthful music. It is not madness That I have utter'd: bring me to the test, And I the matter will re-word, which madness Would gambol from.
Seite 34 - Hold, hold, my heart, And you, my sinews, grow not instant old, But bear me stiffly up ! Remember thee? Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat In this distracted globe.