طبعات أخرى - عرض جميع المقتطفات
Alarum Alençon arms art thou Banquo Bardolph bear better Biron blood brother Claud Claudio cousin crown daughter death dost doth Duke duke of York Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair Falstaff Farewell father fear fool Ford France friends gentle gentleman give Gloster grace hand hath hear heart heaven hither honour Isab Kath king lady Leon Leonato live look lord Lucio Macb Macbeth Macd madam majesty Malvolio marry master master doctor mistress musick never night noble Northumberland pardon peace Pedro Pist pr'ythee pray prince Proteus queen Re-enter Reignier RICHARD PLANTAGENET SCENE Shal shame signior sir John Somerset soul speak Suffolk swear sweet sword tell thee there's thine thing thou art thou hast thou shalt Thurio tongue true unto villain wife wilt word York
الصفحة 355 - O, let us pay the time but needful woe, Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs. — This England never did, (nor never shall,) Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, But when it first did help to wound itself. Now these her princes are come home again, Come the three corners of the world in arms, And we shall shock them : Nought shall make us rue, If England to itself do rest but true.
الصفحة 317 - Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand ? Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight ? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain ? I see thee yet, in form as palpable As this which now I draw. Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going ; And such an instrument I was to use. Mine eyes are made the fools o...
الصفحة 343 - Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form; Then, have I reason to be fond of grief ? Fare you well: had you such a loss as I, I could give better comfort than you do.
الصفحة 424 - With deafning clamours in the slippery clouds, That, with the hurly," death itself awakes ? Can'st thou, O partial sleep ! give thy repose To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude ; And in the calmest and most stillest night, With all appliances and means to boot, Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down ! Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
الصفحة 185 - ... kings ; It is an attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then show likest God's, When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, Though justice be thy plea, consider this, — That in the course of justice, none of us Should see salvation ; we do pray for mercy ; And that same prayer doth teach us all to render The deeds of mercy.
الصفحة 134 - That very time I saw, (but thou couldst not,) Flying between the cold moon and the earth, Cupid all arm'd: a certain aim he took At a fair vestal, throned by the west; And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow, As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts: But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft Quench'd in the chaste beams of the wat'ry moon; And the imperial vot'ress passed on, In maiden meditation, fancy-free.
الصفحة 13 - Be not afeard ; the isle is full of noises, Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not. Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments Will hum about mine ears, and sometimes voices That, if I then had waked after long sleep, Will make me sleep again : and then, in dreaming, The clouds methought would open and show riches Ready to drop upon me, that, when I waked, I cried to dream again.
الصفحة 5 - would it had been done ! Thou didst prevent me ; I had peopled else This isle with Calibans. Pro. Abhorred slave ! Which any print of goodness will not take, Being capable of all ill ! I pitied thee, Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour One thing or other : when thou didst not, savage, Know thine own meaning, but would'st gabble like A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes With words that made them known...
الصفحة 17 - I have bedimm'd The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds, And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault Set roaring war; to the dread rattling thunder Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak With his own bolt; the strong-bas'd promontory Have I made shake, and by the spurs pluck'd up The pine and cedar; graves at my command Have wak'd their sleepers, op'd, and let 'em forth By my so potent art.