The Plays of William Shakspeare. ....T. Bensley, 1800 |
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... hand . An accurate ob- ferver will easily fee , the diction of them is more obfolete , and the numbers more mean and profaical , than in the generality of his ge- nuine compofitions . THEOBALD . Like many others , I was long ftruck with ...
... hand . An accurate ob- ferver will easily fee , the diction of them is more obfolete , and the numbers more mean and profaical , than in the generality of his ge- nuine compofitions . THEOBALD . Like many others , I was long ftruck with ...
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... hand , but conquered . Exe . We mourn in black ; why mourn blood ? Henry is dead , and never shall revive : Upon a wooden coffin we attend ; And death's dishonourable victory We with our stately prefence glorify , Like captives bound to ...
... hand , but conquered . Exe . We mourn in black ; why mourn blood ? Henry is dead , and never shall revive : Upon a wooden coffin we attend ; And death's dishonourable victory We with our stately prefence glorify , Like captives bound to ...
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... hand : A holy maid hither with me I bring , Which , by a vision sent to her from heaven , Ordained is to raise this tedious fiege , And drive the English forth the bounds of France . The spirit of deep prophecy she hath , Exceeding the ...
... hand : A holy maid hither with me I bring , Which , by a vision sent to her from heaven , Ordained is to raise this tedious fiege , And drive the English forth the bounds of France . The spirit of deep prophecy she hath , Exceeding the ...
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... hands ; thou art an Amazon , And fightest with the sword of Deborah . Puc . Christ's mother helps me , elfe I were too weak . Char . Whoe'er helps thee , ' tis thou that must help ' me : Impatiently I burn with thy defire ; My heart and ...
... hands ; thou art an Amazon , And fightest with the sword of Deborah . Puc . Christ's mother helps me , elfe I were too weak . Char . Whoe'er helps thee , ' tis thou that must help ' me : Impatiently I burn with thy defire ; My heart and ...
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... hand , That hath contriv'd this woful tragedy ! In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame ; Henry the fifth he first train'd to the wars : Whilft any trump did found , or drum ftruck up , Hi His fword did ne'er leave striking in the field ...
... hand , That hath contriv'd this woful tragedy ! In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame ; Henry the fifth he first train'd to the wars : Whilft any trump did found , or drum ftruck up , Hi His fword did ne'er leave striking in the field ...
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Afide againſt Alarum anſwer Baft Becauſe blood breaſt brother Buckingham Burgundy Cade cauſe Char Clar Clarence Clif Clifford crown death doth duke of Burgundy duke of York earl Edward England Engliſh Enter King HENRY Exeunt Exit father fear fhall fight firſt flain foes foldiers fome foul fovereign France ftand fuch fword Glofter grace hath heart heaven Henry's highneſs himſelf honour houſe Humphrey Jack Cade Lancaſter lord lord protector madam mafter majeſty Meffenger muft muſt myſelf ne'er noble peace Plantagenet pleaſe pleaſure preſently prifoner prince protector PUCELLE Queen MARGARET reaſon reft Reignier Richard RICHARD PLANTAGENET Saint Albans Saliſbury ſay SCENE ſee ſhall ſhame ſhe ſhould Somerſet ſpeak ſpirit ſtand ſtate ſtay ſtill ſuch Suffolk ſweet Talbot thee thefe theſe thine thoſe thou art thouſand traitor unto Warwick whofe Whoſe wilt Wincheſter yourſelf
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Страница 56 - Content!' to that which grieves my heart, And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, And frame my face to all occasions.
Страница 38 - So many hours must I tend my flock; So many hours must I take my rest; So many hours must I contemplate; So many hours must I sport myself; So many days my ewes have been with young; So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean; So many years ere I shall shear the fleece: So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years, Pass'd over to the end they were created, Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.
Страница 37 - This battle fares like to the morning's war, When dying clouds contend with growing light ; What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails, Can neither call it perfect day nor night.
Страница 37 - O God! methinks it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run, How many make the hour full complete; How many hours bring about the day; How many days will finish up the year; How many years a mortal man may live.