The Works of Shakespeare ...

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Bobbs-Merrill Company, 1922
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Seite 144 - Would have mourn'd longer, — married with my uncle, My father's brother, but no more like my father Than I to Hercules: within a month, Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears Had left the flushing in her galled eyes, She married.
Seite 144 - Of every hearer; for it so falls out That what we have we prize not to the worth Whiles we enjoy it, but being lack'd and lost, Why, then we rack the value, then we find The virtue that possession would not show us Whiles it was ours.
Seite 22 - I shall promulgate, I fetch my life and being From men of royal siege, and my demerits May speak unbonneted to as proud a fortune As this that I have reach'd...
Seite 107 - Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time ; But men may construe things after their fashion, Clean from the purpose of the things themselves.
Seite 15 - Who deserves greatness Deserves your hate ; and your affections are A sick man's appetite, who desires most that Which would increase his evil He that depends Upon your favours swims with fins of lead And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye! Trust ye! With every minute you do change a mind, And call him noble that was now your hate, Him vile that was your garland.
Seite 199 - I'll never Be such a gosling to obey instinct, but stand, As if a man were author of himself And knew no other kin.
Seite 198 - Jerusalem with iniquity: the heads thereof judge for reward, and the priests thereof teach for hire, and the prophets thereof divine for money: yet will they lean upon the Lord, and say, "Is not the Lord among us? none evil can come upon us." Therefore shall Zion for your sake be plowed as a field, and Jerusalem shall become heaps, and the mountain of the house as the high places of the forest.
Seite 11 - I hate him for he is a Christian : But more, for that, in low simplicity, He lends out money gratis, and brings down The rate of usance here with us in Venice. If I can catch him once upon the hip, I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.
Seite 222 - If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there, That, like an eagle in a dovecote, I Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli : Alone I did it. — Boy ! Auf.

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