The Personal Shakespeare, Volume 11

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Doubleday, Page, 1904
 

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Pagina 120 - O mother, mother! What have you done? Behold, the heavens do ope, The gods look down, and this unnatural scene They laugh at. O my mother, mother! O! You have won a happy victory to Rome; But for your son— believe it, O, believe it!— Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd, If not most mortal to him.
Pagina 116 - My desolation does begin to make A better life : Tis paltry to be Caesar; Not being fortune, he's but fortune's knave, A minister of her will ; And it is great To do that thing that ends all other deeds ; Which shackles accidents, and bolts up change; Which sleeps, and never palates more the dung, The beggar's nurse and Caesar's.
Pagina 80 - I see, men's judgments are A parcel of their fortunes ; and things outward Do draw the inward quality after them, To suffer all alike.
Pagina 127 - Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have Immortal longings in me; now no more The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip. Yare, yare, good Iras; quick. Methinks I hear Antony call; I see him rouse himself To praise my noble act; I hear him mock The luck of Caesar, which the gods give men To excuse their after wrath: husband, I come: Now to that name my courage prove my title!
Pagina xxiii - THE LATE And much admired Play, Called Pericles, Prince of Tyre. With the true relation of the whole Historie, aduentures, and fortunes of the said Prince: As also The no lesse strange, and worthy accidents in the Birth and Life, of his Daughter MARIANA. As it hath been diuers and sundry times acted by his Maiesties Seruants, at the Globe on the Banck-side. By William Shakespeare.
Pagina 127 - Now to that name my courage prove my title! I am fire, and air; my other elements I give to baser life. So; have you done? Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips. Farewell, kind Charmian; Iras, long farewell. [Kisses them. IRAS falls and dies. Have I the aspic in my lips? Dost fall? If thou and nature can so gently part, The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, Which hurts, and is desir'd.
Pagina 51 - The more it promises; as it ebbs, the seedsman Upon the slime and ooze scatters his grain, And shortly comes to harvest. Lep. You've strange serpents there. Ant. Ay, Lepidus. Lep. Your serpent of Egypt is bred now of your mud by the operation of your sun. So is your crocodile.
Pagina 115 - I'll never Be such a gosling to obey instinct, but stand, As if a man were author of himself And knew no other kin.
Pagina 125 - tis most certain, Iras. Saucy lictors Will catch at us, like strumpets ; and scald rhymers Ballad us out o' tune : the quick comedians Extemporally will stage us, and present Our Alexandrian revels : Antony Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall see Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness I

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