The Works of William Shakespeare: Tempest ; Two gentlemen of Verona ; Merry wives of Windsor

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Página 395 - Love thyself last : cherish those hearts that hate thee ; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not...
Página 373 - em, if thou canst : leave working. SONG. Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain tops that freeze, Bow themselves when he did sing ; To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung, as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring. Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing die.
Página 141 - Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths ; Our bruised arms hung up for monuments ; Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front ; And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber, To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
Página 392 - This is the state of man : to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hopes ; to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him ; The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, And, when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root, And then he falls, as I do.
Página 168 - Lord ! methought, what pain it was to drown ! What dreadful noise of water in mine ears ! What sights of ugly death within mine eyes ! Methought, I saw a thousand fearful wrecks ; A thousand men, that fishes gnaw'd upon ; Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels 2, All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea.
Página 141 - Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable, That dogs bark at me as I halt by them...
Página 65 - Content!' to that which grieves my heart, And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, And frame my face to all occasions.
Página 265 - My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain. Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree, Murder, stern murder, in the dir'st degree; All several sins, all used in each degree, Throng to the bar, crying all, — Guilty ! guilty ! I shall despair.
Página 168 - I have pass'da miserable night, So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights, That, as I am a Christian faithful man, I would not spend another such a night, Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days : So full of dismal terror was the time.
Página 393 - Why, well ; Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. I know myself now ; and I feel within me A peace above all earthly dignities, A still and quiet conscience.