“The” Plays of William Shakespeare: Accurately Printed from the Text of Mr. Steeven's Last Edition, with a Selection of the Most Important Notes, Volum 16Gerhard Fleischer the Younger, 1810 |
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The Plays of William Shakspeare: Accurately Printed from the Text of Mr ... William Shakespeare,George Steevens Ingen forhåndsvisning tilgjengelig - 2015 |
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Aaron ARVIRAGUS Bassianus Belarius blood Britain Briton brother call'd CHIRON Cloten court Cymbeline dead death deed Demetrius dost doth Emperor Empress Enter Exeunt Exit eyes father fear give Gods Goths grief GUIDERIUS hand Hanmer hath hear heart heaven honour i'the Iach Iachimo Imogen JOHNSON Jupiter kill'd King lady Lavinia leigers Leonatus live Lord Lucius Madam MALONE Marcus MASON means mistress mother noble o'the old copy on't passage Pisanio play Polydore poor Post Posthumus pray Prince Queen revenge Roman Rome Rome's Saturninus SCENE sense Shakspeare Shakspeare's shalt Sir Thomas Hanmer sons sorrow speak STEEVENS sweet sword Tamora tears tell Tereus thee there's thine thing thou art thou hast Titus Andronicus tongue Tribunes Troilus and Cressida true villain WARBURTON wilt word
Populære avsnitt
Side 130 - Or midst the chase, on every plain, The tender thought on thee shall dwell : Each lonely scene shall thee restore ; For thee the tear be duly shed ; Beloved, till life can charm no more ; And mourn'd, till Pity's self be dead.
Side 295 - Call for the robin-red-breast and the wren, Since o'er shady groves they hover, And with leaves and flowers do cover The friendless bodies of unburied men. Call unto his funeral dole The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm And (when gay tombs are robbed) sustain no harm, But keep the wolf far thence that's foe to men, For with his nails he'll dig them up again.
Side 89 - 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.
Side 87 - 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 azured hare-bell, like thy veins ; no, nor The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, Out-sweeten'd not thy breath...
Side 130 - Or midst the chace on every plain, The tender thought on thee shall dwell. Each lonely scene shall thee restore; For thee the tear be duly shed; Belov'd till life could charm no more; And mourn'd till pity's self be dead.