The New Grant White Shakespeare: Twelfth night ; The winter's tale ; King JohnLittle, Brown,, 1912 |
Palavras e frases frequentes
Antigonus Arthur Autolycus Bast Bastard blood Bohemia Cambridge follows Camillo Capell's CLEOMENES Clown comma Const death dost doth Duke England Enter Exeunt Exit eyes father Faulconbridge fear folio reading Folios and Cambridge Fool fourth folio France Furness gentleman give hand hath heart Heaven Herford Hermione honour Hubert hyphen Illyria King John lady later folios Leon Leontes lord Madam Malvolio misprint old play Olivia omits original Pandosto Pandulph passage Paul Paulina peace peized Philip Polixenes pr'ythee pray Prince punctuation Queen recent editors Richard II Rolfe SCENE second folio seems Shakespeare Shep Sicilia Sir Andrew Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK Sir Toby Sir TOBY BELCH soul speak Steevens Supplementary Notes sweet thee Theobald thine thou art thou hast tongue Twelfth Night VIOLA White Winter's Tale word
Passagens conhecidas
Página 424 - This England never did, nor never shall, Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, But when it first did help to wound itself. Now these her princes are come home again, Come the three corners of the world in arms, And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue, If England to itself do rest but true.
Página 51 - ... away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid ; Fly away, fly away, breath ; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O ! prepare it ; My part of death no one so true Did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweet, • On my black coffin let there be strown ; Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown : A thousand thousand sighs to save, Lay me, O ! where Sad true lover never find my grave, To weep there.
Página 372 - Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me ; Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Btuffs out his vacant garments with his form : Then have I reason to be fond of grief.
Página 222 - A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do Nothing but that ; move still, still so, And own no other function : each your doing, So singular in each particular, Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds, That all your acts are queens.
Página 50 - Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid ; Fly away, fly away, breath ; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it ! My part of death, no one so true Did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweet, On my black coffin let there be strown ; Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown : A thousand thousand sighs to save, Lay me, O, where Sad true lover never find my grave, To weep there ! Duke.