Tales from Shakspere for the Use of Young Persons

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Hurd and Houghton, 1868
 

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Seite 243 - A blank, my lord. She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek. She pined in thought And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat, like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief.
Seite 26 - Where the bee sucks, there suck I ; In a cowslip's bell I lie; There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat's back I do fly After summer merrily. Merrily, merrily shall I live now Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
Seite 32 - Philomel, with melody Sing in our sweet lullaby; Lulla, lulla, lullaby ; lulla, lulla, lullaby ; Never harm, nor spell nor charm, Come our lovely lady nigh; So, good night, with lullaby.
Seite 223 - We must not make a scare-crow of the law, ' Setting it up to fear the birds of prey, And let it keep one shape, till custom make it Their perch, and not their terror.
Seite 22 - O earth, bear witness to this sound, And crown what I profess with kind event, If I speak true ! if hollowly, invert What best is boded me to mischief! I, Beyond all limit of what else i' the world, Do love, prize, honour you.
Seite 110 - I hate him for he is a Christian, But more for that in low simplicity He lends out money gratis and brings down The rate of usance here with us in Venice. If I can catch him once upon the hip, I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.
Seite 229 - O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake, Lest thou a feverous life shouldst entertain, And six or seven winters more respect Than a perpetual honour. Dar'st thou die ? The sense of death is most in apprehension ; And the poor beetle that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies.
Seite 172 - With thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed: Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests; I bear a charmed life , which must not yield To one of woman born.
Seite 247 - O fellow, come, the song we had last night: Mark it, Cesario; it is old and plain: The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, And the free maids that weave their thread with bones, Do use to chant it ; it is silly sooth, And dallies with the innocence of love, Like the old age.
Seite 82 - tis to pity and be pitied, Let gentleness my strong enforcement be : In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword.

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