The Tragedies of William Shakespeare: With Introd. Studies ...

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H. Frowde, Oxford University Press, 1912 - 547 Seiten
 

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Seite 142 - I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts. I am no orator, as Brutus is, But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man That love my friend, and that they know full well That gave me public leave to speak of him. For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech To stir men's blood. I only speak right on...
Seite 139 - Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; And sure he is an honourable man. I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, But here I am to speak what I do know.
Seite 361 - Alas, poor Yorick! — I knew him, Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy, he hath 'borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. — Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar?
Seite 399 - This is the excellent foppery of the world, that, when we are sick in fortune — often the surfeit of our own behaviour — we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars, as if we were villains by necessity; fools by heavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, and treachers, by spherical predominance; drunkards, liars, and adulterers, by an enforced obedience of planetary influence ; and all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on. An admirable evasion of whoremaster man, to lay...
Seite 198 - Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? I see thee yet, in form as palpable As this which now I draw. Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going; And such an instrument I was to use. Mine eyes are made the fools o...
Seite 142 - O, now you weep; and, I perceive, you feel The dint of pity : these are gracious drops. Kind souls, what ! weep you, when you but behold Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look you here, Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors.
Seite 142 - I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood: I only speak right on; I tell you that which you yourselves do know; Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor poor dumb mouths, And bid them speak for me: but were I Brutus, And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony Would ruffle up your spirits and put a tongue In every wound of Caesar that should move The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.
Seite 24 - I did consent; And often did beguile her of her tears, When I did speak of some distressful stroke, That my youth suffer'd. My story being done, She gave me for my pains a world of sighs : She swore, in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange, 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful: She wish'd...
Seite 101 - tis true, this god did shake ; His coward lips did from their colour fly, And that same eye whose bend doth awe the world Did lose his lustre : I did hear him groan : Ay, and that tongue of his that bade the Romans Mark him and write his speeches in their books, Alas, it cried, 'Give me some drink, Titinius,
Seite 142 - Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up To such a sudden flood of mutiny. They that have done this deed are honourable ; — What private griefs they have, alas, I know not, That made them do it ; — they are wise and honourable, And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you.

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