The Plays and Poems of Shakespeare, المجلدات 12-13

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الصفحة 245 - FEAR no more the heat o' the sun, Nor the furious winter's rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages. Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Fear no more the frown o...
الصفحة 23 - Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you From seasons such as these? O! I have ta'en Too little care of this. Take physic, pomp; Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, That thou may'st shake the superflux to them, And show the heavens more just.
الصفحة 214 - 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 to-night. 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'st, Thou mayst prove false: at lovers' perjuries, They say, Jove laughs.
الصفحة 117 - Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs ; The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers ; The traces, of the smallest spider's web ; The collars, of the moonshine's watery beams ; Her whip, of cricket's bone ; the lash, of film ; Her...
الصفحة 40 - So many mermaids, tended her i' the eyes, And made their bends adornings. At the helm A seeming mermaid steers; the silken tackle Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands, That yarely frame the office. From the barge A strange invisible perfume hits the sense Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast Her people out upon her; and Antony Enthroned i...
الصفحة 125 - But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid art far more fair than she. Be not her maid, since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green And none but fools do wear it ; cast it off.
الصفحة 66 - How does my royal lord? How fares your majesty? LEAR. You do me wrong to take me out o' the grave; thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears do scald like molten lead.
الصفحة 54 - tis, to cast one's eyes so low! The crows and choughs, that wing the midway air, Show scarce so gross as beetles : Half way down Hangs one that gathers samphire; dreadful trade! Methinks, he seems no bigger than his head: The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, Appear like mice; and yon...
الصفحة 88 - Lear. And my poor fool is hang'd ! No, no, no life : Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, And thou no breath at all ? Thou'lt come no more, Never, never, never, never, never ! — Pray you, undo this button : thank you, sir. — Do you see this ? Look on her, — look, — her lips, — Look there, look there ! — [He dies.
الصفحة 221 - Fear no more the frown o' the great: Thou art past the tyrant's stroke. Care no more to clothe and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak: The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust.

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