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Wit, Wisdom, and Beauties of Shakespeare (Classic Reprint)
Clarence Stuart Ward
No preview available - 2018
Act l angel Antony Bassanio beauty blessed blood brain breath brow Brutus Caesar Cassius cheeks Cleopatra Cressid Crown 8vo dead dear death deeds devil didst doth dream earth Edwin Percy Whipple eyes fair false Falstaff Farewell fear fool Fortune's gentle gilt top give Gloster grace grief Hamlet happy hath hear heart heaven Hecuba hell honour Hotspur Iago James Freeman Clarke King Henry King Richard kiss Lady Macbeth lips live look lord lov'd love's lovers Mercutio methinks mind mortal ne'er never night noble o'er Othello Pandulph Pericles play POLONIUS poor Portia praise Richard Grant White Romeo Rosalind rude Shakespeare sing sleep smile sorrow soul speak spirit star sweet tears thee Theseus thine thing thou art thou dost thou hast thought thyself tongue Troilus true Valentine virtue weep William Shakespeare wind woman youth
Page 30 - It blesseth him that gives and him that takes. Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown; His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; But mercy is above this sceptred sway, It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, It is an attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then show likest God's When mercy seasons justice.
Page 149 - LAERTES' head. And these few precepts in thy memory Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue, Nor any unproportion'd thought his act. Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel; But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd, comrade.
Page 155 - I'll leave you till night: you are welcome to Elsinore. Ros. Good my lord ! [Exeunt Rosencrantz and Gnildenstern. Ham. Ay, so, God be wi' ye : — Now I am alone. O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I ! Is it not monstrous that this player here, But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, Could force his soul so to his own conceit That from her working all his visage wann'd ; Tears in his eyes, distraction in 's aspect, A broken voice, and his whole function suiting With forms to his conceit ? and...
Page 100 - Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: O, no ! it is an ever-fixed mark, That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Page 132 - When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept. Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; And Brutus is an honourable man. You all did see, that, on the Lupercal, I thrice presented him a kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse.
Page 128 - Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world, Like a Colossus ; and we petty men Walk under his huge legs, and peep about To find ourselves dishonorable graves. Men at some time are masters of their fates. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings. Brutus...
Page 152 - But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison-house, I could a tale unfold whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, Thy knotted and combined locks to part And each particular hair to stand on end, Like quills upon the fretful porcupine : But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood.
Page 132 - Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ? Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; And sure he is an honourable man. I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, But here I am to speak what I do know. You all did love him once, not without cause ; What cause withholds you then to mourn for him ? O judgment ! thou art fled to brutish beasts, And men have lost their reason.
Page 113 - Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, A great-sized monster of ingratitudes : Those scraps are good deeds past; which are devour'd As fast as they are made, forgot as soon As done : Perseverance, dear my lord, Keeps honour bright: To have done, is to hang Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail In monumental mockery.
Page 61 - 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