The Comedies, Histories, Tragedies, and Poems of William Shakspere: Histories, vol. 2. King Henry VI, Part I-III. King Richard III. King Henry VIII
C. Knight, 1851
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Angelo Anne Appears Ariel Autolycus BEAT Beatrice Benedick better Bohemia brother CAIUS Caliban Camillo CLAUD Claudio Clown COMEDIES.-VOL daughter death DOGB dost doth DUKE Enter ESCAL Exeunt Exit eyes Falstaff father folio follow fool FORD friar gentleman give grace hand hang hath hear heart heaven Herne the hunter Hero hither honour HOST HUGH EVANS husband Illyria ISAB John king lady LEON Leonato look lord LUCIO maid Malvolio marry master constable master doctor MIRA mistress never night original Orlando passage PEDRO Pompey pray prince prithee Prospero PROV Provost quarto queen Re-enter reading Rosalind SCENE Shakspere Shakspere's SHAL SHEP signior Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK sir Toby SLEN speak Steevens swear sweet tell thee there's thou art thou hast to-morrow wife Windsor woman word
Էջ 367 - Alas ! alas ! Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once; And He that might the vantage best have took, Found out the remedy: How would you be, If he, which is the top of judgment, should But judge you as you are? O, think on that; And mercy then will breathe within your lips, Like man new made.
Էջ 188 - Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, — The seasons' difference : as the icy fang And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say, This is no flattery : these are counsellors That feelingly persuade me what I am.
Էջ 25 - Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more ; Men were deceivers ever ; One foot in sea, and one on shore ; To one thing constant never : Then sigh not so, But let them go, And be you blithe and bonny ; Converting all your sounds of woe Into, Hey nonny, nonny.
Էջ 201 - And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress
Էջ 284 - 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.
Էջ 202 - Blow, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude ; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude. Heigh, ho ! sing, heigh, ho ! unto the green holly : Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly Then, heigh, ho, the holly ! This life is most jolly. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, That dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot : Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp As friend remember'd not Heigh, ho ! sing, heigh,...
Էջ 198 - 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.
Էջ 554 - All things in common nature should produce Without sweat or endeavour : treason, felony, Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, Would I not have ; but nature should bring forth, Of its own kind, all foison, all abundance, To feed my innocent people.
Էջ 425 - In the white curtain, to and fro, She saw the gusty shadow sway. But when the moon was very low, And wild winds bound within their cell, The shadow of the poplar fell Upon her bed, across her brow. She only said, ' The night is dreary, He cometh not...
Էջ 285 - Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid ; Fly away, fly away, breath ; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it ! My part of death, no one so true Did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweet, On my black coffin let there be strown ; Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown : A thousand thousand sighs to save, Lay me, O, where Sad true lover never find my grave, To weep there ! Duke.