The Works of William Shakespeare, Volumen8

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Little, Brown, 1872
 

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Página 392 - Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory ; But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride At length broke under me ; and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
Página 141 - 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 373 - 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 65 - Content!' to that which grieves my heart, And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, And frame my face to all occasions.
Página 46 - To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery ? O, yes it doth ; a thousand fold it doth. And to conclude, — the shepherd's homely curds, His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle, His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, Is far beyond a prince's delicates, His viands sparkling in a golden cup, His body couched in a curious bed, When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him.
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 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 142 - But I, that am not shap'd for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty, To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling Nature, 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 393 - O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours ! There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or women have; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again.
Página 393 - Wol. 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.

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