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Seite 235 - The summer's flower is to the summer sweet, Though to itself it only live and die, But if that flower with base infection meet, The basest weed outbraves his dignity: For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds; Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
Seite 189 - I'll sup. Farewell. Poins. Farewell, my lord. [Exit POINS. P. Hen, I know you all, and will a while uphold The unyok'd humour of your idleness : Yet herein will I imitate the sun, Who doth permit the base contagious clouds To smother up his beauty from the world...
Seite 156 - Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him. Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell Of different flowers in odour and in hue Could make me any summer's story tell...
Seite 243 - O good old man ; how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for duty, not for meed...
Seite 225 - tis but a sound ; a name of air ; A minute's storm, or not so much : to tumble From bed to bed, be massacred alive By some physicians, for a month or two, In hope of freedom from a fever's torments, Might stagger manhood ; here the pain is past Ere sensibly 'tis felt.
Seite 147 - We, ignorant of ourselves, Beg often our own harms, which the wise powers Deny us for our good ; so find we profit, By losing of our prayers.
Seite 54 - What may this mean, That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, Making night hideous ; and we fools of nature So horridly to shake our disposition With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls ? Say, why is this ? wherefore ? what should we do ? Ghost beckons HAMLET.
Seite 58 - Now is it Rome indeed and room enough When there is in it but one only man. O! you and I have heard our fathers say, There was a Brutus once that would have brook'd Th' eternal devil to keep his state in Rome As easily as a king.
Seite 40 - For in your sweet dividing throat She winters, and keeps warm her note.