Was andere dazu sagen - Rezension schreiben
Es wurden keine Rezensionen gefunden.
Andere Ausgaben - Alle anzeigen
Achilles Ajax Anne Apem arms bear better blood bring brother Buck Buckingham cause comes Coriolanus Cres death doth duke Eliz Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair fall fear fight follow fool fortune friends Gent give gods grace hand hast hath head hear heart heaven Hector hold honour I'll Johnson keep kind king lady leave live look lord Malone Marcius master means mind mother nature never noble once peace play poor pray present prince queen Rich Richard Rome SCENE Senators Serv Servant soul speak stand stay sweet sword tell thank thee Ther thing thou thou art thought Timon tongue Troilus true truth Ulyss voice worthy
Seite 6 - 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...
Seite 214 - Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! This is the state of man ; to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him : The third day comes a frost, a killing frost ; And,— when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do.
Seite 214 - Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory ; But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride At length broke under me ; and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. Vain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate ye ; I feel my heart new open'd : O, how wretched Is that poor man, that hangs on princes...
Seite 217 - Love thyself last ; cherish those hearts that hate thee ; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not : Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's : then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr.
Seite 217 - Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries ; but thou hast forc'd me Out of thy honest truth to play the woman. Let's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me, Cromwell ; And, — when I am forgotten, as I shall be ; And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me more must be heard of, — say, I taught thee...
Seite 215 - I am fallen indeed. CROM. How does your grace ? WOL. Why, well ; Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. I know myself now ; and I feel within me A peace above all earthly dignities, A still and quiet conscience.
Seite 217 - And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me more must be heard of, — say, I taught thee, Say, Wolsey, — that once trod the ways of glory, And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour,— Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ; A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it.
Seite 467 - I'll example you with thievery: The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction Robs the vast sea: the moon's an arrant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun...
Seite 140 - I COME no more to make you laugh : things now, That bear a weighty and a serious brow, Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe, Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow, We now present.
Seite 251 - That mould up such a mighty piece as this is, With all the virtues that attend the good, Shall still be doubled on her : truth shall nurse her ; Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her : She shall be lov'd, and fear'd : her own shall bless her: Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, And hang their heads with sorrow : good grows with her. In her days, every man shall eat in safety Under his own vine what he plants ; and sing The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours.