Some 300 Fresh Allusions to Shakspere from 1594 to 1694 A.D.Frederick James Furnivall Trübner, 1886 - 372 sidor |
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Some 300 Fresh Allusions to Shakspere from 1594 to 1694 A.D: Gatherd by ... Frederick James Furnivall Obegränsad förhandsgranskning - 1885 |
Some 300 Fresh Allusions to Shakspere from 1594 to 1694 A.D. Frederick James Furnivall Obegränsad förhandsgranskning - 1886 |
Some 300 Fresh Allusions to Shakspere from 1594 to 1694 A.D. Frederick James Furnivall Obegränsad förhandsgranskning - 1886 |
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Arber Author becauſe Ben Jonson Catalogue Cent Centurie College Comedy Covent Garden Davenant Dublin Duke Dyce Earl edition England English Entred F. J. Furnivall Falstaff felfe fhall fhould fince Folio fome Francis Kirkman FRESH ALLUSIONS fuch Gerard Langbaine Hamlet hath haue Henry Heywood History James Shirley John Dryden John Marston Johnson Julius Cæsar King Langbaine Lear Library Lond London Lord loue Love Lucrece Macbeth Majesties Massinger Master Merry Messrs Trübner moſt muſt Nahum Tate Othello Perfon Play Playes Poems Poets PONSONBY Prince Printed Prologue Quarto Queen reprint Richard Richard Flecknoe Robert Romeo and Juliet Samuel says Scene Servants Shadwell Shakespear Shakspere Society Shakspere's Shirley Sir John sold Street Tempest Theatre thee thefe theſe thofe Thomas Thomas Heywood thoſe thou Tragedy Venice Venus and Adonis vnto William William Davenant writ Written
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Sida 67 - All school-days' friendship, childhood innocence ? We, Hermia, like two artificial gods, Have with our needles created both one flower, Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion, Both warbling of one song, both in one key ; As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds, Had been incorporate. So we grew together, Like to a double cherry, seeming parted ; But yet a union in partition, Two lovely berries moulded on one stem : So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart ; Two of the first, like coats...
Sida 28 - Nor set down aught in malice: then must you speak Of one that loved not wisely but too well ; Of one not easily jealous, but being wrought Perplex'd in the extreme; of one whose hand, Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away Richer than all his tribe...
Sida 66 - Take, oh take those lips away, That so sweetly were forsworn; And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn; But my kisses bring again, bring again, Seals of love, but seal'd in vain. seal'd in vain.
Sida 130 - 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?
Sida 117 - Think, my lord ! By heaven, he echoes me, As if there were some monster in his thought Too hideous to be shown.
Sida 61 - John. It is the curse of kings, to be attended By slaves, that take their humours for a warrant To break within the bloody house of life ; And, on the winking of authority, To understand a law ; to know the meaning Of dangerous majesty, when, perchance, it frowns More upon humour, than advis'd respect.
Sida 59 - What hands are here ? ha ! they pluck out mine eyes. Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood Clean from my hand ? No, this my hand will rather The multitudinous seas incarnadine, Making the green one red.
Sida 97 - Nay then, farewell! I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness : And, from that full meridian of my glory, I haste now to my setting. I shall fall Like a bright exhalation in the evening, And no man see me more.
Sida 105 - I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chapfallen? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that. Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing. Hor. What's that, my lord? Ham. Dost thou think Alexander looked o' this fashion i
Sida 131 - It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale ; look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east. Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops; I must be gone and live, or stay and die.