The works of William Shakespeare, the text formed from an entirely new collation of the old editions, with notes [&c.] by J.P. Collier. [With] Notes and emendations to the text of Shakespeare's plays, Volum 8
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The works of William Shakespeare, the text formed from an entirely ..., Volum 7
Uten tilgangsbegrensning - 1843
The works of William Shakespeare, the text formed from an entirely ..., Volum 1
Uten tilgangsbegrensning - 1844
The works of William Shakespeare, the text formed from an entirely ..., Volum 2
Uten tilgangsbegrensning - 1842
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Side 35 - The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burn'd on the water; the poop was beaten gold, Purple the sails, and so perfumed that The winds were love-sick with them, the oars were silver, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water which they beat to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes.
Side 508 - No longer mourn for me when I am dead Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell: Nay, if you read this line, remember not The hand that writ it; for I love you so, That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, If thinking on me then should make you woe. O, if, I say, you look upon this verse When I perhaps compounded am with clay, Do not so much as my poor name rehearse, But let your love even with my life...
Side 382 - Round-hoofd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long, Broad breast, full eye, small head, and nostril wide, High crest, short ears, straight legs and passing strong, Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide : Look, what a horse should have he did not lack, Save a proud rider on so proud a back.
Side 122 - His legs bestrid the ocean; his rear'd arm Crested the world; his voice was propertied As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends; But when he meant to quail and shake the orb, He was as rattling thunder: For his bounty, There was no winter in't; an autumn 'twas That grew the more by reaping.
Side 500 - As the perfumed tincture of the roses, Hang on such thorns and play as wantonly When summer's breath their masked buds discloses; But, for their virtue only is their show, They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade, Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so; Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made.
Side 522 - And the sad augurs mock their own presage ; Incertainties now crown themselves assured, And peace proclaims olives of endless age. Now with the drops of this most balmy time My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes...
Side 533 - I have seen roses damask'd, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks, And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know, That music hath a far more pleasing sound. I grant I never saw a goddess go; My mistress when she walks treads on the ground. And yet by heaven I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare.
Side 489 - Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate: For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
Side 517 - They that have power to hurt, and will do none, That do not do the thing they most do show, Who, moving others, are themselves as stone, Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow ; They rightly do inherit heaven's graces, And husband nature's riches from expense ; They are the lords and owners of their faces, Others but stewards of their excellence. The summer's flower is to the summer sweet, Though to itself it only live and die ; But if that flower with base infection meet, The basest weed outbraves...