The Comedies, Histories, Tragedies, and Poems of William Shakspere, Volume 2

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Charles Knight, 1851
 

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Page 580 - Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air: And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on ; and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.
Page 284 - O fellow, come, the song we had last night: Mark it, Cesario; it is old and plain: The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, And the free maids that weave their thread with bones, Do use to chant it ; it is silly sooth, And dallies with the innocence of love, Like the old age.
Page 554 - All things in common nature should produce Without sweat or endeavour : treason, felony, Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, Would I not have ; but nature should bring forth, Of its own kind, all foison, all abundance, To feed my innocent people.
Page 424 - Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes down ; It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own ; That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears, And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice appears.
Page 285 - My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, 0 prepare it ; My part of death, no one so true Did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweet, On my black coffin let there be strewn; Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown. A thousand thousand sighs to save, Lay me, 0, where Sad true lover never flnd my grave, To weep there.

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