The Works of Shakespeare: In Eight Volumes : Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected, with Notes, Explanatory, and Critical, Volume 8C. Hitch and L. Hawes, J. and R. Tonson, B. Dod, G. Woodfall, J. Rivington, R. Baldwin, T. Longman, S. Crowder and Company, W. Johnson, C. Corbet, T. Lownds, and T. Caslon, 1762 |
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Página 15
... mothers made . Cap . And too foon marr'd are thofe fo early made : The earth hath fwallowed all my hopes but she . She is the hopeful lady of my earth : But woo her , gentle Paris , get her heart , My will to her confent is but a part ...
... mothers made . Cap . And too foon marr'd are thofe fo early made : The earth hath fwallowed all my hopes but she . She is the hopeful lady of my earth : But woo her , gentle Paris , get her heart , My will to her confent is but a part ...
Página 18
... mother . ful . Madam , I am here , what is your will ? La . Cap . This is the matter- -Nurfe , give leave a while , we muft talk in fecret ; Nurfe , come back again , I have remember'd me , thou fhalt hear our counsel : thou know'ft my ...
... mother . ful . Madam , I am here , what is your will ? La . Cap . This is the matter- -Nurfe , give leave a while , we muft talk in fecret ; Nurfe , come back again , I have remember'd me , thou fhalt hear our counsel : thou know'ft my ...
Página 19
... mothers . By my count , I was your mother much upon thefe years That you are now a maid . Thus , then , in brief ; The valiant Paris feeks you for his love . Nurfe Nurfe . A man , young lady , lady , ROMEO and 19 3 JULIET .
... mothers . By my count , I was your mother much upon thefe years That you are now a maid . Thus , then , in brief ; The valiant Paris feeks you for his love . Nurfe Nurfe . A man , young lady , lady , ROMEO and 19 3 JULIET .
Página 28
... mother ? Nurfe . Marry , bachelor , Her mother is the lady of the house , [ To her Nurje . And a good lady , and a wife and virtuous . I nurs'd her daughter , that you talkt withal : I tell you , he , that can lay hold of her , Shall ...
... mother ? Nurfe . Marry , bachelor , Her mother is the lady of the house , [ To her Nurje . And a good lady , and a wife and virtuous . I nurs'd her daughter , that you talkt withal : I tell you , he , that can lay hold of her , Shall ...
Página 37
... mother , is her tomb ; What is her burying grave , that is her womb ; And from her womb children of divers kind We fucking on her natural bosom find : Many for many virtues excellent , None but for fome , and yet all different . O ...
... mother , is her tomb ; What is her burying grave , that is her womb ; And from her womb children of divers kind We fucking on her natural bosom find : Many for many virtues excellent , None but for fome , and yet all different . O ...
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The Works of Shakespeare: Collated with the Oldest Copies, and ..., Volume 8 William Shakespeare Visualização completa - 1773 |
The Works of Shakespeare: In Eight Volumes ; Collated with the ..., Volume 8 William Shakespeare Visualização completa - 1740 |
Termos e frases comuns
againſt Benvolio Brabantio Caffio Capulet Clown Cyprus dead dear death Defdemona Denmark doft thou doth Duke Emil Enter ev'n Exeunt Exit eyes faid fair Farewel father feems feen fenfe fhall fhew fhould firft flain fleep fome Fortinbras foul fpeak Friar Lawrence ftand ftill fuch fure fweet fword gentlemen give Hamlet hath hear heart heav'n himſelf honeft Horatio houfe huſband Iago is't itſelf Juliet King lady Laer Laertes lago look Lord Madam Mantua marry Mercutio moft Moor moſt muft murder muſt myſelf night Nurfe Nurſe Ophelia Othello Perfon poifon Polonius pray Quarto Queen reafon reft Rodorigo Romeo SCENE ſhall ſhe ſpeak tell thee thefe there's theſe thing thofe thou art to-night Tybalt uſe villain whofe wife William Shakespeare yourſelf
Passagens mais conhecidas
Página 32 - What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O! be some other name: What's in a name?
Página 190 - What is a man, If his chief good and market of his time Be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more. Sure he that made us with such large discourse, Looking before and after, gave us not That capability and god-like reason To fust in us unus'd.
Página 251 - That I did love the Moor to live with him, My downright violence and storm of fortunes May trumpet to the world ; my heart's subdued Even to the very quality of my lord : I saw Othello's visage in his mind ; And to his honours, and his valiant parts, Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate.
Página 210 - I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come ; make her laugh at that. Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing. Hor. What's that, my lord? Ham. Dost thou think Alexander looked o' this fashion i
Página 114 - ... uncle, My father's brother, but no more like my father Than I to Hercules: within a month, Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears Had left the flushing in her galled eyes, She married.
Página 175 - In the corrupted currents of this world Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice; And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself Buys out the law. But 'tis not...
Página 160 - Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue : but if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines.
Página 120 - Are most select and generous, chief in that. Neither a borrower nor a lender be; For loan oft loses both itself and friend, And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
Página 66 - It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale ; look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east. Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops; I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
Página 36 - Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone: And yet no further than a wanton's bird; Who lets it hop a little from her hand, Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, And with a silk thread plucks it back again, So loving-jealous of his liberty.