Remarks on Mr. J. P. Collier's and Mr. C. Knight's Editions of Shakespeare

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E. Moxon, 1844 - 299 Seiten
 

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Seite 17 - Well believe this, No ceremony that to great ones 'longs, Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword, The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe, Become them with one half so good a grace, As mercy does.
Seite 204 - With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial, And in the porches of mine ears did pour The leperous distilment ; whose effect Holds such an enmity with blood of man, That, swift as quicksilver, it courses through The natural gates and alleys of the body ; And, with a sudden vigour, it doth posset And curd, like eager droppings into milk, The thin and wholesome blood : so did it mine ; And a most instant tetter bark'd about, Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust, All my smooth body.
Seite 100 - Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how thou art accompanied : for though the camomile the more it is trodden on the faster it grows, yet youth the more it is wasted the sooner it wears.
Seite 237 - Nor set down aught in malice: then must you speak Of one that loved not wisely but too well; Of one not easily jealous, but, being wrought, Perplex'd in the extreme; of one whose hand, Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away Richer than all his tribe...
Seite 134 - Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not. Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr!
Seite 31 - I have of late, but wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises ; and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory ; this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted...
Seite 142 - Look, where he comes ! Not poppy, nor mandragora, Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep Which thou ow'dst yesterday.
Seite 102 - tis no matter ; Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on? how then? Can honour set to a leg ? No. Or an arm ? No. Or take away the grief of a wound ? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery then ? No. What is honour? A word. What is in that word, honour ? What is that honour ? Air. A trim reckoning ! — Who hath it ? He that died o
Seite 179 - Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream : The genius and the mortal instruments Are then in council ; and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection.
Seite 183 - This castle hath a pleasant seat ; the air Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself Unto our gentle senses. Ban. This guest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet, does approve By his lov'd mansionry that the heaven's breath Smells wooingly here : no jutty, frieze, Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle : Where they most breed and haunt, I have observ'd The air is delicate.

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