The Plays of Shakspeare, Volumen14Doubleday & McClure Company, 1897 |
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Página 18
... Leon . Stay your thanks awhile , Sir , that's to - morrow And pay them when you part . Pol . I am questioned by my fears of what may chance Or breed upon our absence ; that may blow No sneaping winds at home to make us say , This is put ...
... Leon . Stay your thanks awhile , Sir , that's to - morrow And pay them when you part . Pol . I am questioned by my fears of what may chance Or breed upon our absence ; that may blow No sneaping winds at home to make us say , This is put ...
Página 19
William Shakespeare Henry Morley. Pol . No longer stay . Leon . One seven - night longer . Pol . Very sooth , to - morrow . Leon . We'll part the time between's then ; and in that , I'll no gainsaying . Pol . Press me not , ' beseech you ...
William Shakespeare Henry Morley. Pol . No longer stay . Leon . One seven - night longer . Pol . Very sooth , to - morrow . Leon . We'll part the time between's then ; and in that , I'll no gainsaying . Pol . Press me not , ' beseech you ...
Página 22
... Leon . Her . He'll stay , my lord . Leon . Is he won yet ? At my request he would not Hermione , my dearest , thou ne'er spok'st To better purpose . Her . Leon . Never ? Never , but once . Her . What , have I twice said well when was ...
... Leon . Her . He'll stay , my lord . Leon . Is he won yet ? At my request he would not Hermione , my dearest , thou ne'er spok'st To better purpose . Her . Leon . Never ? Never , but once . Her . What , have I twice said well when was ...
Página 23
... Leon . Why , that was when Three crabbéd months had soured themselves to death Ere I could make thee open thy white hand And clap thyself my love : then didst thou utter , ' I am yours for ever . ' Her . ' Tis Grace , indeed.- Why , lo ...
... Leon . Why , that was when Three crabbéd months had soured themselves to death Ere I could make thee open thy white hand And clap thyself my love : then didst thou utter , ' I am yours for ever . ' Her . ' Tis Grace , indeed.- Why , lo ...
Página 24
... Leon . Ay , my good lord , I ' fecks ? Why , that's my bawcock . What , hast smutch'd thy nose ? — They say , it is a copy out of mine : Come , captain , We must be neat ; not neat , but cleanly , captain : And yet the steer , the ...
... Leon . Ay , my good lord , I ' fecks ? Why , that's my bawcock . What , hast smutch'd thy nose ? — They say , it is a copy out of mine : Come , captain , We must be neat ; not neat , but cleanly , captain : And yet the steer , the ...
Términos y frases comunes
Antigonus Apolonius AUTOLYCUS beauty began Bellaria better beyng Bohemia brother Camillo Capnio Cesario child CLEOMENES Clown daughter dear death Delphos Dorastus dost Duke Egistus Enter Exeunt Exit eyes FABIAN father Fawnia fear FLORIZEL fool fortune Franion gentleman give hand hath haue hear heard heart heavens Hermione honour Illyria Iulina king lady Lelia Leon Leontes look lord madam Malvolio MARIA married matter mind never night noble Olivia oracle Orsino Pandosto Paul Paulina Perdita play Polixenes poor Porrus pray prince queen Re-enter SCENE Sebastian servant Shakespeare Shep shepherd Sicilia Silla Siluio Sir Andrew Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK Sir TOBY BELCH Sir Topas sorrow speak swear sweet tell thee there's thou art thou hast thought TWELFTH-NIGHT tyme Viola vnto whither wife WINTER'S TALE young
Pasajes populares
Página 78 - Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid ; Fly away, fly away, breath ; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it ! My part of death, no one so true Did share it.
Página 80 - A blank, my lord. She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek : she pined in thought ; And, with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat like Patience on a monument, Smiling at grief.
Página 19 - If music be the food of love, play on ; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again ! it had a dying fall : O ! it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour.
Página 60 - Holla your name to the reverberate hills, And make the babbling gossip of the air Cry out, Olivia ! O, you should not rest Between the elements of air and earth, But you should pity me. Oli. You might do much: What is your parentage?
Página 98 - But nature makes that mean : so, over that art Which you say adds to nature, is an art That nature makes.
Página 99 - You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock, And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of nobler race: this is an art Which does mend nature, — change it rather; but The art itself is nature.
Página 98 - re welcome, sir. — Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. — Reverend sirs, For you there 's rosemary and rue ; these keep Seeming and savour all the winter long : Grace and remembrance be to you both, And welcome to our shearing ! Pol.
Página 28 - What years, i' faith ? Vio. About your years, my lord. Duke. Too old, by heaven; let still the woman take An elder than herself ; so wears she to him, So sways she level in her husband's heart. For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn, Than women's are.
Página 152 - Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate, For the rain it raineth every day. But when I came, alas ! to wive, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, By swaggering could I never thrive, For the rain it raineth every day.