The Complete Works of William Shakespeare: With a Life of the Poet, Explanatory Foot-notes, Critical Notes, and a Glossarial Index, Volumes 9-10Ginn & Heath, 1880 |
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Page 24
... Heaven , " 1 According to Richardson , to bodge and botch are but different forms of the same word , and are kindred in sense , if not in origin , with to boggle . So that the meaning here seems to be , ' we made bungling work of it in ...
... Heaven , " 1 According to Richardson , to bodge and botch are but different forms of the same word , and are kindred in sense , if not in origin , with to boggle . So that the meaning here seems to be , ' we made bungling work of it in ...
Page 29
... Heaven , my blood upon your heads ! North . Had he been slaughter - man to all my kin , I should not for my life but weep with him , To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul . Queen . What , weeping - ripe , my Lord Northumberland ? Think ...
... Heaven , my blood upon your heads ! North . Had he been slaughter - man to all my kin , I should not for my life but weep with him , To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul . Queen . What , weeping - ripe , my Lord Northumberland ? Think ...
Page 31
... heaven figures some event.4 Edw . ' Tis wondrous strange , the like yet never heard of . I think it cites us , brother , to the field ; That we , the sons of brave Plantagenet , Each one already blazing by our meeds , 5 Should ...
... heaven figures some event.4 Edw . ' Tis wondrous strange , the like yet never heard of . I think it cites us , brother , to the field ; That we , the sons of brave Plantagenet , Each one already blazing by our meeds , 5 Should ...
Page 37
... Heaven forfend ! War . No longer Earl of March , but Duke of York : The next degree is England's royal throne ; For King of England shalt thou be proclaim'd In every borough as we pass along ; And he that throws not up his cap for joy ...
... Heaven forfend ! War . No longer Earl of March , but Duke of York : The next degree is England's royal throne ; For King of England shalt thou be proclaim'd In every borough as we pass along ; And he that throws not up his cap for joy ...
Page 44
... Heaven ! or strike , ungentle death ! For this world frowns , and Edward's Sun is clouded . War . How now , my lord ? what hap ? what hope of good ? Enter GEORGE . Geo . Our hap is loss , our hope but sad despair ; Our ranks are broke ...
... Heaven ! or strike , ungentle death ! For this world frowns , and Edward's Sun is clouded . War . How now , my lord ? what hap ? what hope of good ? Enter GEORGE . Geo . Our hap is loss , our hope but sad despair ; Our ranks are broke ...
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Common terms and phrases
arms art thou Aumerle Bast battle blood Boling Bolingbroke breath brother Buck Buckingham Capell CATESBY Clar Clarence Clifford Collier's second folio cousin crown death dost doth Duch Duke of Norfolk Duke of York Earl Eliz England Enter King Exeunt Exit eyes Falconbridge farewell father fear France friends Gaunt gentle give Glos Gloster Grace gracious Grey grief hand hath hear heart Heaven Holinshed honour House of Lancaster House of York Hubert John Julius Cæsar King Henry King Richard Lady land Lettsom liege live look lord Lord Hastings madam Majesty means mother Murd noble Norfolk Northumberland oath old copies pardon peace play Poet Pope Prince quarto Queen Rich Richmond royal SCENE sense Shakespeare shalt shame Somerset sorrow soul speak sweet tears tell thee thine thou art thou hast tongue traitor uncle unto Warwick word
Popular passages
Page 194 - 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? Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke's, And nothing can we call our own but death, And that small model of the barren earth Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.
Page 108 - 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.
Page 48 - God! methinks, it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run: How many make the hour full complete, How many hours bring about the day, How many days will finish up the year, How many years a mortal man may live.
Page 163 - This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, Fear'd by their breed and famous by their birth, Renowned for their deeds as far from home, For Christian service and true chivalry, As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son, This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, Dear for her reputation through the world...
Page 61 - 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.
Page 174 - All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea: Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept (As 'twere in scorn of eyes,) reflecting gems, That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.
Page 279 - My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain. Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree; Murder, stern murder in the dir'st degree; All several sins, all us'd in each degree, Throng to the bar, crying all, 'Guilty, guilty!
Page 228 - As in a theatre, the eyes of men, After a well-graced actor leaves the stage, Are idly bent on him that enters next, Thinking his prattle to be tedious ; Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes Did scowl on Ri'chard : no man cried, God save him...
Page 67 - I'll play the orator as well as Nestor, Deceive more slily than Ulysses could, And, like a Sinon, take another Troy. I can add colours to the chameleon, Change shapes with Proteus for advantages, And set the murderous Machiavel to school.
Page 195 - All murder'd; for within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king Keeps Death his court and there the antic sits, Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp, Allowing him a breath, a little scene, To monarchize, be fear'd and kill with looks, Infusing him with self and vain conceit, As if this flesh which walls about our life Were brass impregnable, and humour'd thus Comes at the last and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king...