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The dramatic works of William Shakspeare, from the text of ..., Մաս 50,Հատոր 4
Ամբողջությամբ դիտվող - 1851
The dramatic works of William Shakspeare, from the text of ..., Մաս 47,Հատոր 1
Ամբողջությամբ դիտվող - 1851
The dramatic works of William Shakspeare, from the text of ..., Մաս 51,Հատոր 5
Ամբողջությամբ դիտվող - 1852
Achilles Ajax answer arms bear better blood bring brother Buck Buckingham cause Clarence comes Cres crown dead death doth duke Edward Eliz enemy England English Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair fall father fear field fight follow Forces France French friends give Gloster grace hand hast hath head hear heart heaven Hector Henry highness hold honour hope I'll keep king lady leave live look lord Madam majesty master mean mind mother never night noble once peace poor pray prince queen rest Rich Richard SCENE Serv soldiers soul speak stand stay Suffolk sweet sword tell thank thee things thou thought tongue Troilus true Ulyss unto Warwick York
Էջ 24 - Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead. In peace there's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger...
Էջ 391 - Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory ; But far beyond my depth ; my high-blown pride At length broke under me, and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream that must for ever hide me.
Էջ 265 - Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun And descant on mine own deformity; And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover, To entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Էջ 413 - With all the virtues that attend the good, Shall still be doubled on her; truth shall nurse her; Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her; She shall be loved and fear'd; her own shall bless her; Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, And hang their heads with sorrow; good grows with her. In her days every man shall eat in safety Under his own vine what he plants; and sing The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours. God shall be truly known; and those about her From her shall read the...
Էջ 391 - Wol. Why, well ; Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. I know myself now ; and I feel within me A peace above all earthly dignities, A still and quiet conscience.
Էջ 47 - To do our country loss; and if to, live, The fewer men, the greater share of honour. God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more. By Jove, I am not covetous for gold ; Nor care I, who doth feed upon my cost; It yearns me not, * if men my garments wear; Such outward things dwell not in my desires: But, if it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive.
Էջ 391 - But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride At length broke under me ; and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye ; I feel my heart new open'd : O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes...
Էջ 8 - Where some, like magistrates, correct at home, Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad, Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds, Which pillage they with merry march bring home To the tent-royal of their ( emperor; Who, busied in his majesty, surveys The singing masons building roofs of gold, The civil...
Էջ 454 - As fast as they are made, forgot as soon As done : perseverance, dear my lord, Keeps honour bright : to have done, is to hang Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail In monumental mockery. Take the instant way ; For honour travels in a strait so narrow, Where one but goes abreast : keep then the path ; For emulation hath a thousand sons That one by one pursue : if you give way, Or hedge aside from the direct forthright, Like to an enter'd tide they all rush by And leave you hindmost...
Էջ 24 - Be copy now to men of grosser blood, And teach them how to war. And you, good yeomen, Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture ; let us swear That you are worth your breeding ; which I doubt not ; For there is none of you so mean and base, That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.