The Plays of William Shakespeare, Том 10 |
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Lord , Lord , she will be a joyful woman . Rom . What will thou tell her , nutle ? Thou dost not mark me . Nurfe . I will tell her , Sir , that you do proteft ; which as I take it , is a gentleman - like offer . Rom .
Lord , Lord , she will be a joyful woman . Rom . What will thou tell her , nutle ? Thou dost not mark me . Nurfe . I will tell her , Sir , that you do proteft ; which as I take it , is a gentleman - like offer . Rom .
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Well , Sir , my mistress is the sweetest lady ; Lord , Lord ! when ' twas a little prating thing 0 , there's a noble man in town , one Paris , that would fain lay knife aboard ; but fhe , good foul , had as lieve fee a toad , a very ...
Well , Sir , my mistress is the sweetest lady ; Lord , Lord ! when ' twas a little prating thing 0 , there's a noble man in town , one Paris , that would fain lay knife aboard ; but fhe , good foul , had as lieve fee a toad , a very ...
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Now , good sweet nurse , O Lord , why look'ft thou fad ? Tho ' news be fad , yet tell them merrily If good , thou fham'ft the mufick of sweet news , By playing ' t to me with fo four a face . Nurfe . I am a weary , let me reft a while ...
Now , good sweet nurse , O Lord , why look'ft thou fad ? Tho ' news be fad , yet tell them merrily If good , thou fham'ft the mufick of sweet news , By playing ' t to me with fo four a face . Nurfe . I am a weary , let me reft a while ...
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Lord , how my head akes ! what a head have I ? It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces . My back o ' th ' other fide O my back , my back : Befhrew your heart , for fending me about To catch my death with jaunting up and down . Jul .
Lord , how my head akes ! what a head have I ? It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces . My back o ' th ' other fide O my back , my back : Befhrew your heart , for fending me about To catch my death with jaunting up and down . Jul .
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My dear - lov'd coufin , and my dearer Lord ? Then let the trumpet found the general Doom , For who is living , if those two are gone ? ( 2 ) And that bare vervel , ay , fball poifon more Than the death - darting eye of cockatrice .
My dear - lov'd coufin , and my dearer Lord ? Then let the trumpet found the general Doom , For who is living , if those two are gone ? ( 2 ) And that bare vervel , ay , fball poifon more Than the death - darting eye of cockatrice .
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