The Critics Versus Shakspere: A Brief For The Defendent

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Knickerbocker Press, 1907 - 128 من الصفحات

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الصفحة 30 - But I, that am not shap'd for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them...
الصفحة 5 - What needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones, The labour of an age in piled stones ? Or that his hallowed relics should be hid Under a star-ypointing pyramid ? Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name ? Thou in our wonder and astonishment Hast built thyself a livelong monument.
الصفحة 128 - Planting his stedfast footsteps in the sea, Making the heaven of heavens his dwelling-place, Spares but the cloudy border of his base To the foil'd searching of mortality ; And thou, who didst the stars and sunbeams know, Self-school'd, self-scann'd, self-honour'd, selfsecure, Didst tread on earth unguess'd at.
الصفحة 81 - I filled the jails with bankrupts in a year, And with young orphans planted hospitals; And every moon made some or other mad, And now and then one hang himself for grief, Pinning upon his breast a long great scroll How I with interest tormented him.
الصفحة 70 - Serberine by Pedringano slain; False Pedringano hang'd by quaint device; Fair Isabella by herself misdone; Prince Balthazar by Bel-imperia...
الصفحة 7 - It may be observed, that in many of his plays the latter part is evidently neglected. When he found himself near the end of his work, and in view of his reward, he shortened the labour to snatch the profit. He therefore remits his efforts where he should most vigorously exert them, and his catastrophe is improbably produced or imperfectly represented.
الصفحة 28 - Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York ; And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths ; Our bruised arms hung up for monuments ; Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
الصفحة 3 - He is many times flat, insipid ; his comic wit degenerating into clenches, his serious swelling into bombast. But he is always great when some great occasion is presented to him...
الصفحة 31 - Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them — Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace...
الصفحة 7 - He sacrifices virtue to convenience, and is so much more careful to please than to instruct, that he seems to write without any moral purpose.

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