Shakespeare in Art |
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actor Adamo admire artist beauty Bertrand Boydell Cæsar character charming colour composition costume death Delacroix depicted Desdemona dramatic drapery drawn Droeshout edition English painters engravings expression exquisite eyes face Falstaff fancy feeling figure Florizel flowers foreground Fuseli Gainsborough Gallery German painters ghost grace Grützner Hamlet handling hands head Heinrich Hofmann Henry Hofmann human illustrated imagination Jean Paul Laurens Jessica John Millais Julius Cæsar Karl von Piloty Kaulbach King Lear Lady Macbeth Laertes Leslie less listlessly lovers maiden melancholy ment Merchant of Venice Miranda nature Ophe Ophelia Othello painted passion Perdita picture picturesque Piloty Platform Scene play poet poetic portrait pre-Raphaelite prince queen realise represented Richard Richard III Romeo and Juliet Salon Seifert Shake Shakespeare Shylock Sir John Gilbert sitting sketch soul speare stands statue strange Stratford sweet theatrical Thomas Gainsborough tion tragedy treated Twelfth Night vague viduality vigour Viola Wilhelm von Kaulbach young
Popular passages
Page 43 - All the images of nature were still present to him, and he drew them not laboriously, but luckily: when he describes anything, you more than see it, you feel it too. Those who accuse him to have wanted learning, give him the greater commendation: he was naturally learned; he needed not the spectacles of books to read nature; he looked inwards, and found her there.
Page 108 - When your head did but ache, I knit my handkerchief about your brows (The best I had, a princess wrought it me), And I did never ask it you again : And with my hand at midnight held your head ; And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time; Saying, What lack you? and, Where lies your grief?
Page 154 - I never heard the old song of Percy and Douglas that I found not my heart moved more than with a trumpet; and yet it is sung but by some blind crowder, with no rougher voice than rude style...
Page 101 - Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain tops that freeze, Bow themselves, when he did sing: To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung ; as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring. Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing, die.
Page 154 - I never heard the old song of Percy and Douglas, that I found not my heart more moved than with a trumpet; and yet it is sung by some blind crowder with no rougher voice than rude style ; which being so evil apparelled in the dust and cobweb of that uncivil age, what would it work trimmed in the gorgeous eloquence of Pindar?
Page 138 - 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 note, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
Page 47 - This Figure, that thou here seest put, It was for gentle Shakespeare cut ; Wherein the Graver had a strife With Nature, to out-doo the life: O, could he but have drawne his wit As well in brasse, as he hath hit His face ; the print would then surpasse All that was ever writ in brasse. But, since he cannot, Reader, looke Not on his Picture, but his Booke.
Page 47 - This figure that thou here seest put, It was for gentle SHAKESPEARE cut, Wherein the graver had a strife With nature, to out-do the life : O could he but have drawn his wit As well in brass, as he hath hit His face ; the print would then surpass All that was ever writ in brass. But since he cannot, reader, look Not on his picture, but his book.
Page 108 - Or, What good love may I perform for you ? Many a poor man's son would have lain still, And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you; But you, at your sick service, had a prince. Nay, you may think my love was crafty love, And call it cunning; do, an' if you will, If heaven be pleased that you must use me ill Why, then, you must.
Page 22 - There's rosemary, that's for remembrance: pray you, love, remember: and there is pansies, that's for thoughts. There's fennel for you, and columbines: there's rue for you: and here's some for me: we may call it herb of grace o' Sundays: O, you must wear your rue with a difference.