Tragedy of Cymbeline

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Harper & brothers, 1896
 

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Seite 117 - I'd let a parish of such Clotens' blood, And praise myself for charity. [Exit. Bel. O thou goddess, Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st In these two princely boys ! They are as gentle As zephyrs, blowing below the violet, Not wagging his sweet head : and yet as rough, Their royal blood enchafed, as the rudest wind, That by the top doth take the mountain pine And make him stoop to the vale.
Seite 121 - Fear no more the frown o' the great; Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; Care no more to clothe and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak. The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust.
Seite 215 - Come, seeling night, Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day; And with thy bloody and invisible hand Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond Which keeps me pale!
Seite 171 - If we should fail? Lady M. We fail! But screw your courage to the sticking-place, And we'll not fail. When Duncan is asleep — Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey Soundly invite him — his two chamberlains Will I with wine and wassail so convince That memory, the warder of the brain, Shall be a fume...
Seite 119 - With fairest flowers, Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, I'll sweeten thy sad grave : thou shalt not lack The flower, that's like thy face, pale primrose ; nor The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins ; no, nor The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, Out-sweeten'd not thy breath...
Seite 185 - Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio!
Seite 181 - Who is't now we hear ? None but the lark so shrill and clear ; Now at heaven's gate she claps her wings, The morn not waking till she sings. Hark, hark, with what a pretty throat Poor robin redbreast tunes his note : Hark how the jolly cuckoos sing Cuckoo...
Seite 72 - Hark, hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies ; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes : With every thing that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise : Arise, arise.
Seite 94 - tis slander, Whose edge is sharper than the sword ; whose tongue Outvenoms all the worms of Nile ; * whose breath Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie All corners of the world : kings, queens, and states,3 Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave This viperous slander enters.
Seite 209 - The charm dissolves apace ; And as the morning steals upon the night, Melting the darkness, so their rising senses Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle Their clearer reason.

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