The dramatic works of William Shakspeare. Whittingham's ed, Volume 5 |
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Results 6-10 of 91
Page 18
... Thou art as opposite to every good , As the Antipodes are unto us , Or as the south to the septentrion . O , tiger's heart , wrapp'd in a woman's hide ! How couldst thou drain the life - blood of the child , To bid the father wipe his ...
... Thou art as opposite to every good , As the Antipodes are unto us , Or as the south to the septentrion . O , tiger's heart , wrapp'd in a woman's hide ! How couldst thou drain the life - blood of the child , To bid the father wipe his ...
Page 21
... art thou , whose heavy looks foretel Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue ? Mess . Ah , one that was a woful looker on , When as the noble duke of York was slain , Your princely father , and my loving lord . Edw . O , speak no more ...
... art thou , whose heavy looks foretel Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue ? Mess . Ah , one that was a woful looker on , When as the noble duke of York was slain , Your princely father , and my loving lord . Edw . O , speak no more ...
Page 22
... thou art gone , we have no staff , no stay ! - O Clifford , boist'rous Clifford , thou hast slain The flower of Europe for his chivalry ; And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him , For , hand to hand , he would have vanquish'd thee ...
... thou art gone , we have no staff , no stay ! - O Clifford , boist'rous Clifford , thou hast slain The flower of Europe for his chivalry ; And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him , For , hand to hand , he would have vanquish'd thee ...
Page 29
... thou him a child ? Rich . Ay , like a dastard , and a treacherous coward ... art neither like thy sire , nor dam ; But like a foul mis - shapen stigmatic ... thou not , knowing whence thou art extraught , SCENE 2 . 29 KING HENRY VI .
... thou him a child ? Rich . Ay , like a dastard , and a treacherous coward ... art neither like thy sire , nor dam ; But like a foul mis - shapen stigmatic ... thou not , knowing whence thou art extraught , SCENE 2 . 29 KING HENRY VI .
Page 30
William Shakespeare. Sham'st thou not , knowing whence thou art extraught , To let thy tongue detect thy base - born heart ? Edw . A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns , To make this shameless callet know herself.- Helen of ...
William Shakespeare. Sham'st thou not , knowing whence thou art extraught , To let thy tongue detect thy base - born heart ? Edw . A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns , To make this shameless callet know herself.- Helen of ...
Common terms and phrases
Achilles Agam Agamemnon Ajax Alcib Alcibiades Anne Apem Apemantus bear blood brother Buck Buckingham Calchas cardinal Catesby Cham Clar Clarence Clifford Cres Cressid crown death Diomed dost doth Duch duke duke of York Edward Eliz Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair Farewell father fear Flav fool fortune friends Gent gentle give Gloster gods grace hand hath hear heart heaven Hect Hector Henry honour house of Lancaster i'the Kath king lady live look Lord Chamberlain lord Hastings lord Timon lordship Lucullus madam Menelaus Murd ne'er never noble o'the Pandarus Patr Patroclus peace pity Poet pr'ythee pray Priam prince queen Rich Richard SCENE Serv Servant soul speak Surry sweet sword tell thee Ther There's Thersites thine thou art thou hast thyself Troilus Trojan Troy Ulyss unto Warwick York
Popular passages
Page 17 - Take but degree away, untune that string, And hark, what discord follows ! each thing meets In mere oppugnancy : the bounded waters Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores, And make a sop of all this solid globe...
Page 33 - God! methinks, it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run: How many make the hour full complete, How many hours bring about the day, How many days will finish up the year, How many years a mortal man may live.
Page 56 - O'errun and trampled on : then what they do in present, Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours ; For time is like a fashionable host That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand, And with his arms outstretch'd, as he would fly, Grasps-in the comer : welcome ever smiles, And farewell goes out sighing.
Page 63 - 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. 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...
Page 7 - Thus much of this will make black white, foul fair, Wrong right, base noble, old young, coward valiant. Ha, you gods! why this? what this, you gods? Why, this Will lug your priests and servants from your sides, Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads: This yellow slave Will knit and break religions; bless the accurs'd; Make the hoar leprosy ador'd; place thieves, And give them title, knee, and approbation, With senators on the bench...
Page 16 - Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil, And posts, like the commandment of a king, Sans check, to good and bad : but when the planets, In evil mixture, to disorder wander, What plagues and what portents! what mutiny! What raging of the...
Page 73 - Fie, fie upon her ! There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip, Nay, her foot speaks ; her wanton spirits look out At every joint and motive of her body.
Page 59 - Nay then, farewell ! I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness : And, from that full meridian of my glory, I haste now to my setting. I shall fall Like a bright exhalation in the evening, And no man see me more.
Page 101 - My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain. Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree; Murder, stern murder in the dir'st degree; All several sins, all us'd in each degree, Throng to the bar, crying all, 'Guilty, guilty!
Page 28 - Come not to me again : but say to Athens, Timon hath made his everlasting mansion Upon the beached verge of the salt flood ; Which once a day with his embossed froth The turbulent surge shall cover ; thither come, And let my grave-stone be your oracle.