Shakespeare's Hamlet

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Scott, Foresman, 1903 - 274 Seiten
 

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Inhalt

I
9
II
27
III
39
IV
41
V
81
VI
112
VII
151
VIII
182

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Seite 20 - O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide, The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, That did not better for my life provide Than public means which public manners breeds. Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, And almost thence my nature is subdued To what it works in, like the dyer's hand...
Seite 55 - That it should come to this! But two months dead: nay, not so much, not two: So excellent a king; that was, to this, Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother That he might not beteem the winds of heaven Visit her face too roughly.
Seite 160 - What is a man, If his chief good and market of his time \ Be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more. "* Sure, he that made us with such large discourse, Looking before and after, gave us not That capability and god-like reason To "fust in us unused.
Seite 72 - But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison-house, I could a tale unfold whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, Thy knotted and combined locks to part And each particular hair to stand on end, Like quills upon the fretful porcupine : But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood.
Seite 122 - O, there be players that I have seen play, and heard others praise, and that highly, not to speak it profanely, that, neither having the accent of Christians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed that I have thought some of Nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably.
Seite 138 - Pray can I not, Though inclination be as sharp as will. My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent, And, like a man to double business bound, I stand in pause where I shall first begin, And both neglect. What if this cursed hand Were thicker than itself with brother's blood, Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens To wash it white as snow?
Seite 161 - Excitements of my reason and my blood, And let all sleep, while to my shame I see, The imminent death of twenty thousand men, That, for a fantasy and trick of fame, Go to their graves like beds, fight for a plot Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause, Which is not tomb enough and continent To hide the slain? O, from this time forth, My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!
Seite 189 - Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar?
Seite 120 - Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue : but if you mouth it, as many of your players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines.
Seite 70 - Why, what should be the fear ? I do not set my life at a pin's fee ; And for my soul, what can it do to that, Being a thing immortal as itself ? It waves me forth again : I'll follow it.

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