Annals of the Life and Work of William Shakespeare: Collected from the Most Recent AuthoritiesSampson, Low, Marston, Searle & Rivington, 1886 - 146 pagine |
Altre edizioni - Visualizza tutto
Annals of the Life and Work of William Shakespeare: Collected from the Most ... Joseph Cundall Visualizzazione completa - 1886 |
Annals of the Life and Work of William Shakespeare: Collected from the Most ... Joseph Cundall Anteprima non disponibile - 2009 |
Annals of the Life and Work of William Shakespeare: Collected from the Most ... Joseph Cundall Anteprima non disponibile - 2015 |
Parole e frasi comuni
acted actors afterwards Anne Antony April Avon Ben Jonson Bidford Birthplace Blackfriars Blackfriars Theatre brought buried chancel Charlecote Clopton Combe comedy Condell Court daughter death deceas died drama Earl edition engraved Falstaff Folio gardens gent Globe Theatre gyve and bequeath Halliwell-Phillipps Hamlet Hart hath Hathaway Henley Street Henry Condell Henry VIII History Holinshed's Chronicle house in Henley Iohn James Burbage Joan John Hall John Shakespeare Jonson Judith Lane lawfullie lived London Lord Chamberlaine Majestie married monument Nash night partly performed players Plutarch's poem poet poet's portrait pounds Prince printed probably published Queen Elizabeth Quiney Register Republished Richard Burbage Richard Shakespeare Right Honourable seruants Shakespeare bought Shakespeare Memorial Shakespeare's house Shakespeare's plays Shakspere Shottery Snitterfield sold sonne Sonnets Southwark story Stratford Church Stratford-on-Avon Susanna Hall Thomas thou town tradition says tragedy unto widow William Combe William Shakespeare Wilmecote written
Brani popolari
Pagina 63 - The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burn'd on the water ; the poop was beaten gold, Purple the sails, and so perfumed that The winds were love-sick with them, the oars were silver, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water which they beat to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes.
Pagina 43 - How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank ! Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears ; soft stillness, and the night, Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica : Look, how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines' of bright gold; There's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st, But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-ey'd cherubins : Such harmony is in immortal souls ; But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close...
Pagina 33 - 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.
Pagina 29 - Yes, trust them not: for there is an upstart crow beautified with our feathers, that with his tiger's heart, wrapt in a player's hide, supposes he is as well able to bombast out a blank verse as the best of you; and being an absolute Johannes factotum, is in his own conceit the only Shake-scene in a country.
Pagina 87 - WHAT needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones The labour of an age in piled stones ? Or that his hallowed reliques should be hid Under a star-ypointing pyramid ? Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name ? Thou in our wonder and astonishment Hast built thyself a livelong monument.
Pagina 88 - This pencil take (she said), whose colours clear Richly paint the vernal year : Thine, too, these golden keys, immortal Boy! This can unlock the gates of Joy; Of Horror that, and thrilling Fears, Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic Tears.
Pagina 63 - ... silver, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water which "they beat to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes. For her own person, It...
Pagina 32 - Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest, From his moist cabinet mounts up on high, And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast The sun ariseth in his majesty; Who doth the world so gloriously behold, That cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold.
Pagina 33 - Wilt thou be gone ? it is not yet near day : It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear ; Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree : Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.
Pagina 86 - Sweet Swan of Avon! what a sight it were To see thee in our waters yet appear, And make those flights upon the banks of Thames, That so did take Eliza, and our James!