The Beauties of Shakspeare Regularly Selected from Each Play. With a General Index, Digesting Them Under Proper HeadsT. Bedlington, 1827 - 345 من الصفحات |
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الصفحة 31
... BEAUTY . In her youth There is a prone§ and speechless dialect , Such as moves men ; beside , she hath prosperous art When she will play with reason and discourse , And well she can persuade . • PARDON THE SANCTION OF WICKEDNESS . For ...
... BEAUTY . In her youth There is a prone§ and speechless dialect , Such as moves men ; beside , she hath prosperous art When she will play with reason and discourse , And well she can persuade . • PARDON THE SANCTION OF WICKEDNESS . For ...
الصفحة 37
... beauty , To make thy riches pleasant . What's yet in this ; That bears the name of life ? yet in this life Lie hid more thousand deaths : yet death we fear , That makes these odds all even . THE TERRORS OF DEATH MOST IN APPREHENSION O ...
... beauty , To make thy riches pleasant . What's yet in this ; That bears the name of life ? yet in this life Lie hid more thousand deaths : yet death we fear , That makes these odds all even . THE TERRORS OF DEATH MOST IN APPREHENSION O ...
الصفحة 46
... beauty , And you shall see ' tis purchas'd by the weight ; Which therein works a miracle in nature , Making them lightest that wear most of it : So are those crisped ‡ snaky golden locks , * Dignity of mein , + Winning favour . + Curled ...
... beauty , And you shall see ' tis purchas'd by the weight ; Which therein works a miracle in nature , Making them lightest that wear most of it : So are those crisped ‡ snaky golden locks , * Dignity of mein , + Winning favour . + Curled ...
الصفحة 47
... beauty : in a word , The seeming truth which cunning times put on To entrap the wisest . PORTIA'S PICTURE . What find I here ? [ Opening the leaden casket . Fair Portia's counterfeit ? What demi - god Hath come so near creation ? Move ...
... beauty : in a word , The seeming truth which cunning times put on To entrap the wisest . PORTIA'S PICTURE . What find I here ? [ Opening the leaden casket . Fair Portia's counterfeit ? What demi - god Hath come so near creation ? Move ...
الصفحة 57
... beauty in a brow of Egypt : The poet's eye , in a fine frenzy rolling , Doth glance from heaven to earth , from earth to heav'n ; And , as imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown , the poet's pen Turns them to shapes , and ...
... beauty in a brow of Egypt : The poet's eye , in a fine frenzy rolling , Doth glance from heaven to earth , from earth to heav'n ; And , as imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown , the poet's pen Turns them to shapes , and ...
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عبارات ومصطلحات مألوفة
Achilles Agamemnon Ajax Antony Aposiopesis art thou banishment bear beauty blood bosom breath brows Brutus Cassius Cesar cheek Coriolanus crown curse Cymbeline dear death deed described Desdemona didst dost thou doth dream earth eyes fair fair ladies father fear fool fortune friends gentle Ghost give grief hand hang hath head hear heart heaven honour hour Iago iron tongue king kiss Lady live look lord Macb Macbeth Macd maid melancholy midnight bell mother murder nature ne'er never night noble o'er Pandarus passion Patroclus pity poor princes proud Queen revenge Richard III shame sleep soliloquy sorrow soul speak speech spirit stamp'd sweet Sycorax tears thee thine thing thou art thou hast thoughts tongue true twice-told tale unto vex'd villain virtue weep wife wind woman words young youth
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الصفحة 61 - Where the bee sucks, there suck I ; In a cowslip's bell I lie : There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat's back I do fly, After summer, merrily : Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
الصفحة 103 - 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 130 - He's here in double trust; First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, Strong both against the deed; then, as his host, Who should against his murderer shut the door, Not bear the knife myself.
الصفحة 70 - Yet nature is made better by no mean, But nature makes that mean: so, o'er that art, Which you say adds to nature, is an art That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock, And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of nobler race: this is an art Which does mend nature, — change it rather; but The art itself is nature.
الصفحة 17 - Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow And coughing drowns the parson's saw And birds sit brooding in the snow And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-whit ; Tu-who...
الصفحة 127 - I'll kneel down, And ask of thee forgiveness. So we'll live, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues Talk of court news ; and we'll talk with them too, Who loses, and who wins ; who's in, who's out ; And take...
الصفحة 130 - tis done, then 'twere well It were done quickly : If the assassination Could trammel up the consequence, and catch, With his surcease, success ; that but this blow Might be the be-all and the end-all here, But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, — We'd jump the life to come.
الصفحة 132 - s his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth, Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear Thy very stones prate of my whereabout, And take the present horror from the time, Which now suits with it.
الصفحة 60 - twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault Set roaring war : to the dread rattling thunder Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak With his own bolt : the strong-bas'd promontory...
الصفحة 102 - Pray can I not, Though inclination be as sharp as will, My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent, And, like a man to double business bound, I stand in pause where I shall first begin, And both neglect. What if this cursed hand Were thicker than itself with brother's blood, Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens To wash it white as snow?