The Dramatic Works: Of Shakespeare, in Six Volumes; with Notes by Joseph Rann, ...
at the Clarendon Press, M DCC LXXXVI. To be had of Mess. Rivington, London; Mess. Prince and Cooke and C. Selwin Rann, Oxford; and of Mess. Pearson and Rollason, Birmingham, 1789
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Achilles againſt Ajax anſwer arms bear better blood Boling breath bring brother comes couſin dead death doth England Enter Exeunt Exit eyes face fair faith fall father fear fellow fight firſt France friends give gone grace grief hand Harry haſt hath head hear heart heaven Hector Henry himſelf hold honour hour I'll Italy John keep king lady land leave live look lord majeſty maſter means meet moſt muſt myſelf never night noble peace play Poins poor pray prince Queen Rich Richard ſay ſee ſet ſhall ſhe ſhould ſir ſome ſon ſoul ſpeak ſtand ſtill ſuch ſweet ſword tell thee theſe thing thoſe thou art thought tongue Troi Troilus true truth whoſe York young
Seite 319 - Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form; Then, have I reason to be fond of grief ? Fare you well: had you such a loss as I, I could give better comfort than you do.
Seite 558 - Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no. Doth he hear it? no. 'Tis insensible, then? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? no. Why? detraction will not suffer it. Therefore I'll none of • it. Honour is a mere scutcheon : and so ends my catechism.
Seite 417 - To monarchize, 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...
Seite 327 - To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet, To smooth the ice, or add another hue Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, Is wasteful, and ridiculous excess.
Seite 558 - tis no matter; Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on ? how then ? Can honour set to a leg? No. Or an arm? No. Or take away the grief of a wound ? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery then ? No. What is honour? A word. What is in that word, honour? What is that honour? Air. A trim reckoning ! — Who hath it? He that died o