The Dramatic Works of William Shakespeare: Life of Shakespeare. Seven ages of man [illus.] Will. Commendatory verses. Tempest. Two gentlemen of Verona. Merry wives of Windsor. Twelfth night

Copertina anteriore
C. Whittingham, 1826
 

Cosa dicono le persone - Scrivi una recensione

Nessuna recensione trovata nei soliti posti.

Parole e frasi comuni

Brani popolari

Pagina 47 - Were I in England now, (as once I was,) and had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver: there would this monster make a man; any strange beast there makes a man: when they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. Legg'd like a man! and his fins like arms! Warm, o
Pagina 82 - Some heavenly music, (which even now I do) To work mine end upon their senses, that This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff, Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, And, deeper than did ever plummet sound, I'll drown my book.
Pagina 295 - 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.
Pagina 67 - O, it is monstrous, monstrous ! Methought the billows spoke, and told me of it ; The winds did sing it to me ; and the thunder. That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc'd The name of Prosper : it did bass my trespass. Therefore my son i' th' ooze is bedded ; and I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded, And with him there lie mudded.
Pagina 102 - Nature's family. Yet must I not give Nature all : thy art My gentle Shakespeare, must enjoy a part. For though the poet's matter, Nature be, His art doth give the fashion. And, that he, Who casts to write a living line, must sweat, (Such as thine are) and strike the second heat Upon the Muse's anvil : turn the same, (And himself with it) that he thinks to frame ; Or for the laurel, he may gain a scorn, For a good poet's made, as well as born. And such wert thou.
Pagina 157 - Who is Silvia ? what is she, That all our swains commend her ? Holy, fair, and wise is she, The heaven such grace did lend her, That she might admired' be. Is she kind as she is fair ? For beauty lives with kindness : Love doth to her eyes repair, To help him of his blindness; And, being helped, inhabits there.
Pagina 334 - Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid ; Fly away, fly away, breath ; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, 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 strown ; Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown : A thousand thousand sighs to save, Lay me, O, where Sad true lover never find my grave, To weep there ! Duke.
Pagina 91 - All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress
Pagina 82 - The charm dissolves apace ; And as the morning steals upon the night, Melting the darkness, so their rising senses Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle Their clearer reason.
Pagina 102 - Triumph, my Britain, thou hast one to show, To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe. He was not of an age, but for all time!

Informazioni bibliografiche