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answer arms Bard Bardolph Bast bear better blood Boling Bolingbroke breath brother comes cousin crown dead death doth duke editions England English Enter Exeunt Exit eyes face fair faith Falstaff father fear folio follow France French friends give grace hand Harry hast hath head hear heart heaven Henry hold honour horse Host I'll John keep king Lady land leave live look lord majesty Malone master means meet never night noble North old copies omits once passage peace Percy Pist play Poins poor pray prince printed quarto reason Rich Richard SCENE seems sense Shakespeare sir John soldiers soul speak stand sweet sword tell thee thing thou thou art thought tongue true York
Página 167 - All murder'd: for within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king Keeps Death his court, and there the antic sits, Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp, Allowing him a breath, a little scene, To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks, Infusing him with self and vain conceit, As if this flesh which walls about our life Were brass impregnable; and humour'd thus Comes at the last, and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall, and — farewell king!
Página 320 - tis no matter; Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on, how then ? Can honour set to a leg ? No. Or an arm ? No. Or take away the grief of a wound? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery then ? No. What is honour? A word. What is in that word, honour ? What is that honour ? Air. A trim reckoning ! — Who hath it ? He that died o
Página 560 - Like to the senators of th' antique Rome, With the plebeians swarming at their heels, Go forth, and fetch their conquering Caesar in : As, by a lower but by loving likelihood, Were now the general of our gracious empress (As in good time he may) from Ireland coming, Bringing rebellion broached on his sword, How many would the peaceful city quit, To welcome him ! much more, and much more cause, Did they this Harry.
Página 236 - I'll sup. Farewell. Poins. Farewell, my lord. [Exit POINS. P. Hen, I know you all, and will a while uphold The unyok'd humour of your idleness : Yet herein will I imitate the sun, Who doth permit the base contagious clouds To smother up his beauty from the world, That when he please again to be himself, Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at, By breaking through the foul and ugly mists Of vapours, that did seem to strangle him.
Página 540 - Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd. This story shall the good man teach his son ; And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered...