Webster & TourneurVizetelly, 1888 - 432 من الصفحات |
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الصفحة 32
... killing griefs which dare not speak . Re - enter MARCELLO with CAMILLO . Mar. Camillo's come , my lord . Fran . de Med . Where's the commission ? Mar. ' Tis here . Fran . de Med . Give me the signet . [ Exit . [ FRANCISCO DE Medicis ...
... killing griefs which dare not speak . Re - enter MARCELLO with CAMILLO . Mar. Camillo's come , my lord . Fran . de Med . Where's the commission ? Mar. ' Tis here . Fran . de Med . Give me the signet . [ Exit . [ FRANCISCO DE Medicis ...
الصفحة 80
... kill . About some murder ? was't not ? Lod . I'll not tell you : And yet I care not greatly if I do ; Marry , with this preparation . Holy father , I come not to you as an intelligencer , But as a penitent sinner : what I utter 1 Terms ...
... kill . About some murder ? was't not ? Lod . I'll not tell you : And yet I care not greatly if I do ; Marry , with this preparation . Holy father , I come not to you as an intelligencer , But as a penitent sinner : what I utter 1 Terms ...
الصفحة 93
... kill him . Hort . You see he is departed . Cor . Let me come to him ; give me him as he is : if he be turned to earth , let me but give him one hearty kiss , and you shall put us both into one coffin . Fetch a looking glass ; see if his ...
... kill him . Hort . You see he is departed . Cor . Let me come to him ; give me him as he is : if he be turned to earth , let me but give him one hearty kiss , and you shall put us both into one coffin . Fetch a looking glass ; see if his ...
الصفحة 94
... kill him : these have killed him that would not let him be better looked to . Brach . Have comfort , my grieved mother . Cor . O you screech - owl ! Hort . Forbear , good madam . Cor . Let me go , let me go . [ She runs to FLAMINEO with ...
... kill him : these have killed him that would not let him be better looked to . Brach . Have comfort , my grieved mother . Cor . O you screech - owl ! Hort . Forbear , good madam . Cor . Let me go , let me go . [ She runs to FLAMINEO with ...
الصفحة 96
... kill without book ; but your art to save Fails you as oft as great men's needy friends . I that have given life to offending slaves And wretched murderers , have I not power To lengthen mine own a twelvemonth ? — Do not kiss me , for I ...
... kill without book ; but your art to save Fails you as oft as great men's needy friends . I that have given life to offending slaves And wretched murderers , have I not power To lengthen mine own a twelvemonth ? — Do not kiss me , for I ...
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عبارات ومصطلحات مألوفة
Antonio Atheist's Tragedy BELFOREST blood Borachio Bosola Brach BRACHIANO brother Card cardinal CARIOLA Cast Castabella Charl Charlemont court cuckold CYRIL TOURNEUR D'Am D'AMVILLE dead death Delio devil dost doth Duch duchess Duchess of Malfi duke Duke of Florence duke's e'en Enter Exeunt Exit faith father fear Ferd Flam FLAMINEO for't Fran FRANCISCO DE MEDICIS Fres Fresco give grace hast hath hear heart Heaven HIPPOLITO honour husband in't is't J. A. SYMONDS JOHN WEBSTER Julia kiss knave lady LANGUEBEAU live look lord lordship lust madam MARCELLO Methinks Mont Montferrers murder ne'er never night noble on't PESCARA poison pray princes Re-enter revenge Revenger's Tragedy Rous SCENE Sebas Servant sister SOQUETTE soul sweet tell thee there's Thou art to't tragedy twas twill unto VENDICE villain What's Zanche
مقاطع مشهورة
الصفحة 111 - 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 robb'd) 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 209 - I pray thee, look thou giv'st my little boy Some syrup for his cold, and let the girl Say her prayers ere she sleep. [CARIOLA is forced out by the Executioners.] Now what you please: What death? Bos. Strangling; here are your executioners. DUCH. I forgive them: The apoplexy, catarrh, or cough o' th' lungs, Would do as much as they do.
الصفحة 208 - Most ambitiously. Princes' images on their tombs do not lie. as they were wont, seeming to pray up to Heaven ; but with their hands under their cheeks, as if they died of the toothache ; they are not carved with their eyes fixed upon the stars ; but as their minds were wholly bent upon, the world, the selfsame •way they seem, to turn their faces.
الصفحة 203 - 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' heaven o'er my head seems made of molten brass, The earth of flaming sulphur, yet I am not mad.
الصفحة 240 - These wretched eminent things Leave no more fame behind 'em, than should one Fall in a frost, and leave his print in snow; As soon as the sun shines, it ever melts, Both form and matter. I have ever thought Nature doth nothing so great for great men As when she's pleas'd to make them lords of truth: Integrity of life is fame's best friend, Which nobly, beyond death, shall crown the end.
الصفحة 204 - Like to your picture in the gallery, A deal of life in show, but none in practice; Or rather like some reverend monument Whose ruins are even pitied.
الصفحة 149 - Are forc'd to express our violent passions In riddles and in dreams, and leave the path Of simple virtue, which was never made To seem the thing it is not.
الصفحة iv - What things have we seen Done at the Mermaid! Heard words that have been So nimble and so full of subtle flame As if that every one from whence they came Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest, And had resolved to live a fool the rest Of his dull life.
الصفحة 232 - Come, I'll be out of this ague, For to live thus, is not indeed to live ; It is a mockery and abuse of life : I will not henceforth save myself hy halves ; Lose all, or nothing.
الصفحة 207 - Didst thou ever see a lark in a cage ? Such is the soul in the body : this world is like her little turf of grass, and the heaven o'er our heads like her looking-glass, only gives us a miserable knowledge of the small compass of our prison.