What is Shakespeare?: An Introduction to the Great Plays

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Macmillan, 1902 - 414 Seiten
 

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Seite 313 - Come, let's away to prison: We two alone will sing like birds i' the cage: When thou dost ask me blessing, I'll kneel down And ask of thee forgiveness...
Seite 171 - Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face ; Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek, For that which thou hast heard me speak tonight. Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny What I have spoke. But farewell compliment ! Dost thou love me ? I know thou wilt say — Ay; And I will take thy word: yet, if thou swear'sV Thou mayst prove false ; at lovers' perjuries, They say, Jove laughs.
Seite 172 - I'll believe thee. Rom. If my heart's dear love— Jul. Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night: It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be Ere one can say "It lightens.
Seite 253 - Yes, trust them not: for there is an upstart crow beautified with our feathers, that with his tiger's heart, wrapt in a player's hide, supposes he is as well able to bombast out a blank verse as the best of you; and being an absolute Johannes factotum, is in his own conceit the only Shake-scene in a country.
Seite 266 - I loved the man, and do honour his memory, on this side idolatry, as much as any. He was (indeed) honest, and of an open and free nature ; had an excellent phantsie, brave notions, and gentle expressions...
Seite 168 - What's in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, Retain that dear perfection which he owes Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, And for that name which is no part of thee Take all myself.
Seite 160 - Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this ; For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers
Seite 167 - O! speak again, bright angel; for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head, As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds, And sails upon the bosom of the air.
Seite 296 - Such an act, That blurs the grace and blush of modesty ; Calls virtue hypocrite ; takes off the rose From the fair forehead of an innocent love, And sets a blister there; makes marriage vows As false as dicers...
Seite 147 - Dis's waggon! daffodils That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath; pale prim-roses That die unmarried ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength...

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