Specimens of English Dramatic Poets who Lived about the Time of Shakspeare: With NotesCharles Lamb G. Bell, 1887 - 552 من الصفحات |
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الصفحة 2
... tell , While slumbering on his careful bed he rests , His heart stabb'd in with knife is reft of life . Gorb . O Eubulus , O draw this sword of ours , And pierce this heart with speed . O hateful light , O loathsome life , O sweet and ...
... tell , While slumbering on his careful bed he rests , His heart stabb'd in with knife is reft of life . Gorb . O Eubulus , O draw this sword of ours , And pierce this heart with speed . O hateful light , O loathsome life , O sweet and ...
الصفحة 8
... tell me I am mad : thou liest , I am not mad : I know thee to be Pedro and he Jaques . I'll prove it to thee ; and were I mad , how could I ? Where was she the same night , when my Horatio was murder'd ? She should have shone : search ...
... tell me I am mad : thou liest , I am not mad : I know thee to be Pedro and he Jaques . I'll prove it to thee ; and were I mad , how could I ? Where was she the same night , when my Horatio was murder'd ? She should have shone : search ...
الصفحة 9
... tell thee , God hath engross'd all justice in his hands , And there is none but what comes from him . Pain . O then I see that God must right me for der'd son . Hier . How , was thy son murder'd ? Pain . Ay , sir , no man did hold a son ...
... tell thee , God hath engross'd all justice in his hands , And there is none but what comes from him . Pain . O then I see that God must right me for der'd son . Hier . How , was thy son murder'd ? Pain . Ay , sir , no man did hold a son ...
الصفحة 13
... Tell her , her graces have found grace with him . Cusay . I will , my Lord . David . Bright Bethsabe shall wash in David's bower In water mix'd with purest almond flower , And bathe her beauty in the milk of kids ; Bright Bethsabe gives ...
... Tell her , her graces have found grace with him . Cusay . I will , my Lord . David . Bright Bethsabe shall wash in David's bower In water mix'd with purest almond flower , And bathe her beauty in the milk of kids ; Bright Bethsabe gives ...
الصفحة 24
... tatter'd robes ! Tell Isabel the queen , I look'd not thus , When for her sake I ran at tilt in France , And there unhorsed the duke of Cleremont . 1 His keepers . Light . O , speak no more , my lord 24 CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE .
... tatter'd robes ! Tell Isabel the queen , I look'd not thus , When for her sake I ran at tilt in France , And there unhorsed the duke of Cleremont . 1 His keepers . Light . O , speak no more , my lord 24 CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE .
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عبارات ومصطلحات مألوفة
beauty BEN JONSON blessing blood breath brother Cæsar Calica Capt Clor COMEDY Corb court curse dare daughter dead dear death dost doth Duch Duke earth ev'n eyes fair faith father Faustus fear GEORGE CHAPMAN GEORGE PEELE give gods grave grief hand happy hath hear heart heaven hell Heywood honour hope Jacin JAMES SHIRLEY JOHN FORD JOHN MARSTON JOHN WEBSTER king kiss lady leave live look lord madam maid methinks Moth mother ne'er never night noble Ovid passion Peneus Phao PHILIP MASSINGER pity play pleasure poor pray prince prithee queen revenge Sapho Shakspeare shame sister sleep sorrow soul speak spirit sweet tears tell thee thine things THOMAS HEYWOOD THOMAS MIDDLETON thou art thou hast thoughts THYESTES thyself tongue TRAGEDY true twas unto virtue weep what's Whilst wife WILLIAM ROWLEY witch woman
مقاطع مشهورة
الصفحة 190 - Call for the robin redbreast and the wren, Since o'er shady groves they hover, And with leaves and flowers do cover The friendless bodies of unburied men. Call unto his funeral dole The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole, To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm, And (when gay tombs are robbed) sustain no harm : But keep the wolf far thence, that's foe to men, For with his nails he'll dig them up again.
الصفحة 172 - O that it were possible we might But hold some two days conference with the dead, From them I should learn somewhat I am sure I never shall know here. I'll tell thee a miracle ; I am not mad yet, to my cause of sorrow. Th...
الصفحة 266 - No doubt ; he's that already. Mam. Nay, I mean, Restore his years, renew him like an eagle, To the fifth age ; make him get sons and daughters, Young giants, as our philosophers have done (The ancient patriarchs afore the flood) But taking, once a week, on a knife's point The quantity of a grain of mustard of it, Become stout Marses, and beget young Cupids.
الصفحة 137 - tis To ride in the air When the moon shines fair, And sing, and dance, and toy, and kiss : Over woods, high rocks, and mountains, Over seas (our mistress' fountains) Over steep towers and turrets, We fly by night 'mongst troops of Spirits.
الصفحة 17 - Rather had I a Jew be hated thus, Than pitied in a Christian poverty: For I can see no fruits in all their faith, But malice, falsehood, and excessive pride, Which methinks fits not their profession. Haply some hapless man hath conscience, And for his conscience lives in beggary.
الصفحة 20 - All things that move between the quiet poles Shall be at my command : emperors and kings Are but obeyed in their several provinces, Nor can they raise the wind or rend the clouds ; But his dominion that exceeds in this Stretcheth as far as doth the mind of man, A sound magician is a mighty god : Here, Faustus, tire thy brains to gain a deity.
الصفحة 15 - Edw. Something still buzzeth in mine ears, And tells me, if I sleep I never wake ; This fear is that which makes me tremble thus. And therefore tell me, wherefore art thou come? Light. To rid thee of thy life ; Matrevis, come. Edw. I am too weak and feeble to resist : Assist me, sweet God, and receive my soul.
الصفحة 283 - Lay a garland on my hearse, Of the dismal yew; Maidens, willow branches bear; Say I died true: My love was false, but I was firm From my hour of birth. Upon my buried body lie Lightly, gentle earth!
الصفحة 190 - O thou soft natural death, that art* joint-twin To sweetest slumber ! no rough-bearded comet Stares on thy mild departure ; the dull owl Beats not against thy casement ; the hoarse wolf Scents not thy carrion : pity winds thy corse, Whilst horror waits on princes'.
الصفحة 279 - s ear. The pox approach, and add to your diseases, If it would send you hence, the sooner sir, For your incontinence, it hath deserved it Throughly and throughly, and the plague to boot ! You may come near, sir Would you would once close Those filthy eyes of yours, that flow with slime, Like two frog-pits ; and those same hanging cheeks, Cover'd with hide instead of skin — Nay, help, sir That look like frozen dish-clouts set on end !