Shakespeare's Stories of the English KingsG.G. Harrap, 1912 - 284 sidor |
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Shakespeare's Stories of the English Kings Thomas Thellusson Carter Fragmentarisk förhandsgranskning - 1912 |
SHAKESPEARES STORIES OF THE EN Thomas Thellusson 1808-1901 Carter,Gertrude Demain D. 1934 Hammond Ingen förhandsgranskning - 2016 |
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Archbishop army Arthur Arthur of Brittany Bardolph battle Belarius Bishop blood brother Buckingham Cardinal Castle Clarence Cloten crown Cymbeline dark Dauphin dead death doth Duke of Gloucester Duke of York Earl enemies England English eyes face Falstaff farewell father fear fell Fluellen flung France French Glendower Gloucester grief Guiderius hand Harry Hastings hath head heart heaven Henry Bolingbroke Henry VI honour horse Hotspur House of York Hubert Iachimo Imogen John of Gaunt King Cymbeline King Edward King Henry King John King Richard King's knew knight Lady Lancaster Lancastrians land London look Mortimer murder never nobles Norfolk Northumberland palace Pandulph peace Percy Philip Pisanio Pistol Plantagenet Poins Posthumus Princess prisoner Queen replied Richard Plantagenet Roman Salisbury Sir Richard smile soldiers soon sorrow soul stood Suffolk sword Talbot thee thou thought throne tongue Tower villain Wales Warwick wife Wolsey words Yorkists young
Populära avsnitt
Sida 194 - s he that wishes so ? My cousin Westmoreland ? No, my fair cousin : If we are mark'd to die, we are enow To do our country loss ; and if to live, The fewer men, the greater share of honour. God's will ! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
Sida 191 - Not all these, laid in bed majestical, Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave, Who with a body fill'd and vacant mind Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread Never sees horrid night, the child of hell, But, like a lackey, from the rise to set Sweats in the eye of Phoebus and all night Sleeps in Elysium...
Sida 178 - Creatures, that, by a rule in nature, teach The act of order to a peopled Kingdom. They have a King, and Officers of sorts : Where some, like Magistrates, correct at home ; Others, like Merchants, venture trade abroad; Others, like Soldiers, armed in their stings, Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds; Which pillage they with merry march bring home To the tent-royal of their Emperor...
Sida 124 - My liege, I did deny no prisoners ; But, I remember, when the fight was done, When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil, Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, Came there a certain lord, neat...
Sida 278 - Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries ; but thou hast forced me, Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. Let's dry our eyes : And thus far hear me, Cromwell; And, — when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And sleep in dull cold marble...
Sida 120 - 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
Sida 256 - Give me another horse ! — bind up my wounds ! — Have mercy, Jesu ! — Soft ! I did but dream. — O, coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me ! — The lights burn blue. — It is now dead midnight. Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.
Sida 105 - God save him ; No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home : But dust was thrown upon his sacred head ; Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off, His face still combating with tears and smiles, The badges of his grief and patience, That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd The hearts of men, they must perforce. have melted, And barbarism itself have pitied him.
Sida 184 - And you, good yeomen, Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture ; let us swear That you are worth your breeding ; which I doubt not ; For there is none of you so mean and base, That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
Sida 102 - 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...