The Works of William Shakespeare: The first, second, and third parts of King Henry VI. The first part of the contention, &c. The true tragedie of Richard Duke of Yorke, and the good King Henry the Sixt. King Richard III

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Macmillan, 1864

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الصفحة 623 - s none else by : Richard loves Richard ; that is, I am I. Is there a murderer here ? No. Yes, I am : Then fly. What, from myself? Great reason why: Lest I revenge. What, myself upon myself ? Alack, I love myself. Wherefore ? for any good That I myself have done unto myself? O, no ! alas, I rather hate myself For hateful deeds committed by myself!
الصفحة 3 - Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night! Comets, importing change of times and states, Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky, And with them scourge the bad revolting stars That have consented unto Henry's death!
الصفحة 623 - The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight. Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. What! do I fear myself? there's none else by Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.
الصفحة 472 - 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 505 - All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea. Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept (As 'twere in scorn of eyes,) reflecting gems, That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.
الصفحة 506 - I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood, With that grim ferryman which poets write of, Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger soul, Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick; Who cried aloud, 'What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?
الصفحة 264 - God ! methinks it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run: How many make the hour full complete; How many hours bring about the day ; How many days will finish up the year; How many years a mortal man may live.
الصفحة 624 - And if I die, no soul shall pity me : Nay, wherefore should they, since that I myself Find in myself no pity to myself...
الصفحة 195 - Thou hast most traitorously corrupted the youth of the realm in erecting a grammar school; and whereas, before, our forefathers had no other books but the score and the tally, thou hast caused printing to be used, and, contrary to the king, his crown and dignity, thou hast built a paper-mill. It will be proved to thy face that thou hast men about thee that usually talk of a noun and a verb, and such abominable words as no Christian ear can endure to hear.

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