Hvad folk siger - Skriv en anmeldelse
Vi har ikke fundet nogen anmeldelser de normale steder.
Andre udgaver - Se alle
affects ancient Angelo answer appears bear believe better bring brother called Cassio cause comes common death Desdemona doth Duke edit editors Emil Enter Escal explanation expression eyes fair false faults fear folio friar give hand hast hath head hear heart heaven Henry hold honest honour Iago Isab Johnson keep King Lago light live look lord Lucio Malone married master means mind Moor nature never night observed occurs old copy original Othello passage perhaps person phrase play poet poor pray present Provost quarto reading reason scene seems sense Shakspeare signifies soul speak speech stand Steevens suppose tell term thee thing thou thought true virtue WARBURTON wife woman word Отн
Side 486 - tis a lost fear; Man but a rush against Othello's breast, And he retires; — Where should Othello go? — Now, how dost thou look now ? O ill-starr'd wench ! Pale as thy smock ! when we shall meet at compt, This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven, And fiends will snatch at it.
Side 64 - O, it is excellent To have a giant's strength ; but it is tyrannous To use it like a giant.
Side 202 - I'll lend you all my life to do you service. Duke. Against all sense you do importune her: Should she kneel down in mercy of this fact, Her brother's ghost his paved bed would break, And take her hence in horror.
Side 61 - tis too late. Lucio. You are too cold. [To Isabella. Isab. Too late? why, no; I, that do speak a word, May call it back again: Well believe this, No ceremony that to great ones 'longs, Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword, The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe, Become them with one half so good a grace, As mercy does.
Side 260 - And, till she come, as truly as to heaven I do confess the vices of my blood, So justly to your grave ears I'll present How I did thrive in this fair lady's love, And she in mine.
Side 378 - Look, where he comes ! Not poppy, nor mandragora, Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep Which thou ow'dst yesterday.
Side 104 - And the poor beetle that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies.
Side 462 - It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul, — Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars ! — It is the cause.