Literary and Graphical Illustrations of Shakspeare, and the British Drama: Comprising an Historical View of the Origin and Improvement of the English Stage, and a Series of Critical and Descriptive Notices of Upwards of One Hundred of the Most Celebrated Tragedies, Comedies, Operas, and Farces. Embellished with More Than Two Hundred Engravings on WoodMaurice and Company, and pub. by Hurst, Chance and E. Wilson, 1831 - 204 Seiten |
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acted at Drury-Lane action actors admired alteration appeared applause attributed Bannister Barry called Castalio celebrated character Charles Cibber Colman Comedy comic commences Coriolanus Cymbeline DAVID GARRICK death derived Drury-Lane Duke Duke's Theatre edition eminent English Stage entered at Stationers entertainment Epilogue excellent Fair Penitent Falstaff Fanny Kemble Farce February folio Garrick George GEORGE FARQUHAR Hamlet Haymarket Henry IV Horatio humour J. P. Kemble J. R. Planché Jane Shore King Henry Lady Lincoln's Inn Fields London Lord Macklin Malone Miss modern stage nights October Opera original performers originally produced Oroonoko Othello perhaps plot present drama present piece Prince principal printed probably produced at Covent-Garden produced at Drury-Lane Prologue published quarto racter Richard scene is laid season Shakspeare's Siddons songs story success supposed talent thee Theophilus Cibber Thomas thou Tragedy translation Troilus and Cressida whilst Wilks WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE written Young
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Seite 13 - quoth he, how the world wags ; 'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine: And after an hour more 'twill be eleven ; And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot, And thereby hangs a tale.
Seite 55 - Macbeth. Is this a dagger, which I see before me, The handle toward my hand ? Come, let me clutch thee :— I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling, as to sight ? or art thou but A dagger of the mind; a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain ? Act 2.
Seite 25 - be fear'd, and kill with looks; Infusing him with self and vain conceit,— As if this flesh, which walls about our life, Were brass impregnable; and, humour'd thus, Comes at the last, and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall, and—farewell, king!
Seite 57 - hack 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. Where be your gibes now ? your gambols ? your songs ? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar ? Not one now, to mock your own grinning ? quite chapfallen
Seite 21 - Thy mother Appear'd to me last night: for ne'er was dream So like a waking. To me comes a creature, Sometimes her head on one side, some another; I never saw a vessel of like sorrow So fill'd, and so becoming: in pure white robes, Like very sanctity, she did approach My cabin where I lay.
Seite 61 - s lodging lose this napkin, And let him find it: Trifles, light as air, Are, to the jealous, confirmations strong As proofs of holy writ. This may do something. The Moor already changes with my poison.
Seite xiii - Julia. Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ,— Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus, To the sweet Julia /—that I'll tear away : And yet I will not, sith so prettily He couples it to his complaining names: Thus will I fold them one upon another; Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will.
Seite 27 - and possess'd with fear So strongly, that they dare not meet each other; Each takes his fellow for an officer. Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death, And lards the lean earth as he walks along: Wer't not for laughing, I should pity him.
Seite 1 - for death ! Even for our kitchens We kill the fowl of season ; shall we serve heaven With less respect than we do minister To our gross selves ? Good, good my lord, bethink you ? Who is it that hath died for this offence ? There's many have committed it.
Seite 23 - And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should sail, Are turned to one thread, one little hair: My heart hath one poor string to stay it by, Which holds but till thy news be uttered; And then, all this thou see'st, is but a clod, And module of confounded royalty. Act