The Poetical Works of William ShakespeareLittle, Brown, 1866 - 288 sider |
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Side xxxiv
... sors , awaking , by his magic touch , their dead and cold creations to breathing and passionate beauty . Among the numerous dramas , manuscript as well as printed , of which time has spared no copies. xxxίν MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE .
... sors , awaking , by his magic touch , their dead and cold creations to breathing and passionate beauty . Among the numerous dramas , manuscript as well as printed , of which time has spared no copies. xxxίν MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE .
Side xxxvii
... dead , that I did not , I am as sory , as if the originall fault had beene my fault , be- cause my selfe haue seene his demeanour no lesse ciuill than he exelent in the qualitie * he pro- fesses : Besides , diuers of worship haue ...
... dead , that I did not , I am as sory , as if the originall fault had beene my fault , be- cause my selfe haue seene his demeanour no lesse ciuill than he exelent in the qualitie * he pro- fesses : Besides , diuers of worship haue ...
Side lvi
... dead , is no - thing . " Ashmole MSS . 38 . The letter from Peele to Marlowe , concerning Shakespeare and Jonson , which has been given in several publications , is undoubtedly a forgery : see my Life of Peele , p . iii . prefixed to ...
... dead , is no - thing . " Ashmole MSS . 38 . The letter from Peele to Marlowe , concerning Shakespeare and Jonson , which has been given in several publications , is undoubtedly a forgery : see my Life of Peele , p . iii . prefixed to ...
Side lx
... dead , he desired it might be done immediately ; upon which Shakespeare gave him these four verses : Ten in the hundred lies here engrav'd ; ' Tis a hundred to ten his soul is not sav'd : If any man ask , Who lies in this tomb ? Ho ! ho ...
... dead , he desired it might be done immediately ; upon which Shakespeare gave him these four verses : Ten in the hundred lies here engrav'd ; ' Tis a hundred to ten his soul is not sav'd : If any man ask , Who lies in this tomb ? Ho ! ho ...
Side lxiii
... dead , he doth but sleepe . This stony register is for his bones , His fame is more perpetual than these stones : And his own goodness , with himself being gone , Shall live , when earthly monument is none . " Written upon the west end ...
... dead , he doth but sleepe . This stony register is for his bones , His fame is more perpetual than these stones : And his own goodness , with himself being gone , Shall live , when earthly monument is none . " Written upon the west end ...
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The Poetical Works of William Shakespeare: With Notes Illustrative and ... William Shakespeare Ingen forhåndsvisning - 2017 |
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Almindelige termer og sætninger
Adonis bear beauty beauty's behold Ben Jonson bequeath blood breast breath cheeks Collatine daughter dead dear death delight desire doth dramas English Dram face fair false fault fear fire flower foul Francis Collins gentle give grace grief Hamnet hand hast hate hath hear heart heaven honour John Shakespeare Jonson king kiss lips live looks Lord love's Lucrece lust MALONE mind moan never night pale pity play poet poison'd poor praise proud queen quoth RAPE OF LUCRECE Richard Barnefield Richard Burbage Shak Shake Shakespeare shame sighs sight sing Sonnets sorrow soul Stratford Susanna Hall sweet Tarquin tears theatre thee thine eye thing Thomas Lucy thou art thou dost thou wilt thought thyself time's tongue true truth unto Venus and Adonis verse weep Welcombe William William Shakespeare wind WITCH words wound Yorkshire Tragedy youth
Populære passager
Side 153 - Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date...
Side 153 - But thy eternal summer shall not fade Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest ; Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou growest : So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this and this gives life to thee.
Side 265 - 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.
Side 273 - 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...
Side 226 - Two loves I have, of comfort and despair, Which like two spirits do suggest me still : The better angel is a man right fair, The worser spirit a woman colour'd ill. To win me soon to hell, my female evil Tempteth my better angel from my side, And would corrupt my saint to be a devil, Wooing his purity with her foul pride.
Side 275 - Blow, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude ; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude.
Side 47 - Which after him she darts, as one on shore Gazing upon a late-embarked friend, Till the wild waves will have him seen no more, Whose ridges with the meeting clouds contend : So did the merciless and pitchy night Fold in the object that did feed her sight.
Side 160 - Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least ; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate ; For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
Side 274 - Tell me where is fancy bred, Or in the heart or in the head ? How begot, how nourished? Reply, reply. It is engender'd in the eyes, With gazing fed ; and fancy dies In the cradle where it lies. Let us all ring fancy's knell : I'll begin it, — Ding, dong, bell ALL.
Side 222 - Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks, Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied? Why should my heart think that a several plot Which my heart knows the wide world's common place? Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not, To put fair truth upon so foul a face ? In things right true my heart and eyes have err'd, And to this false plague are they now transferr'd. CXXXVIII. When my love swears that she is made of truth I do believe her, though I know she lies, That she might think me some untutor'd...