The plays of William Shakspeare, pr. from the text of the corrected copies left by G. Steevens and E. Malone, with a selection of notes from the most eminent commentors by A. Chalmers, المجلد 4
Antipholus arms art thou Aumerle Banquo Bast Bishop of CARLISLE blood Boling Bolingbroke breath castle cousin crown death devil doth Dromio Duch duke earl England Enter Ephesus Exeunt Exit eyes face fair Falstaff father Faulconbridge fear Fleance France friends Gaunt give grace grief hand Harry Percy hath head hear heart heaven Hecate Henry honour horse Hubert John of Gaunt JOHNSON King John king Richard Lady land liege live look lord Macb Macbeth Macd Macduff majesty MALONE means murder never night noble Northumberland peace Percy play Poins poison'd pray prince prince of Wales Queen Rich Rosse SCENE Shakspeare shame sleep soul speak stand STEEVENS sweet sword tell thane thee There's thine thou art thou hast tongue traitor uncle villain wife Witch word York
الصفحة 92 - It is too full o' the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way : thou wouldst be great ; Art not without ambition ; but without The illness should attend it : what thou wouldst highly, That wouldst thou holily ; wouldst not play false, And yet wouldst wrongly win : thou'dst have, great Glamis, That which cries " Thus thou must do, if thou have it ; And that which rather thou dost fear to do Than wishest should be undone.
الصفحة 105 - 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 127 - Come, seeling night, Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day; And with thy bloody and invisible hand Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond Which keeps me pale! Light thickens; and the crow Makes wing to the rooky wood: Good things of day begin to droop and drowse; Whiles night's black agents to their preys do rouse.
الصفحة 474 - Wednesday. Doth he feel it ? No. Doth he hear it ? No. Is it insensible then ? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living ? No. Why? Detraction will, not suffer it: — therefore I'll none of it: Honour is a mere scutcheon, and so ends my catechism.
الصفحة 132 - The times have been That, when the brains were out, the man would die, And there an end ; but now they rise again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our stools.
الصفحة 93 - Stop up the access and passage to remorse ; > That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between The effect, and it ! Come to my woman's breasts, And take my milk for gall, you murd'ring ministers, Wherever in your sightless substances You wait on nature's mischief...
الصفحة 331 - No matter where; of comfort no man speak: Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth. Let's choose executors, and talk of wills; And yet not so,—for what can we bequeath, Save our deposed bodies to the ground?
الصفحة 474 - tis no matter; honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on? how then? Can honour set to a leg? No. Or an arm? No. Or take away the grief of a wound? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery then? No. What is honour? A word. What is that word honour? Air. A trim reckoning ! Who hath it? He that died o
الصفحة 424 - Should I turn upon the true prince? Why, thou knowest I am as valiant as Hercules. But beware instinct. The lion will not touch the true prince. Instinct is a great matter. I was now a coward on instinct. I shall think the better of myself, and thee, during my life - I for a valiant lion, and thou for a true prince.