The Works of William Shakspeare: The Text Formed from an Intirely New Collation of the Old Editions, with the Various Readings, Notes, a Life of the Poet, and a History of the Early English Stage, Том 2

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Стр. 546 - I view the fight, than thou that mak'st the fray. A Song, whilst BASSANIO comments on the caskets to himself. Tell me, where is fancy bred, Or in the heart, or in the head ? How begot, how nourished ? Reply, reply. It is engender d in the eyes
Стр. 546 - begin it, Ding, dong, bell. All. Ding, dong, bell. Bass.—So may the outward shows be least themselves : The world is still deceiv'd with ornament. In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt, But, being season'd with a gracious voice, Obscures the show of evil ? In religion, What damned error, but some sober brow
Стр. 72 - 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 seafd in vain, seafd in vain. Mari. Break off thy song, and haste thee quick away: Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice Hath often still'd my brawling discontent.—
Стр. 479 - The. Come now ; what masks, what dances shall we have, To wear away this long age of three hours, Between our after-supper, and bed-time ? Where is our usual manager of mirth ? What revels are in hand ? Is there no play, To ease the anguish of a torturing hour ? Call Philostrate 4 . Philost. Here, mighty Theseus.
Стр. 525 - Jes. Farewell, good Launcelot. — Alack, what heinous sin is it in me, To be asham'd to be my father's child ! But though I am a daughter to his blood, I am not to his manners. O Lorenzo ! If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife, Become a Christian, and thy loving wife.
Стр. 452 - Injurious Hermia ! most ungrateful maid ! Have you conspir'd, have you with these contriv'd To bait me with this foul derision ? Is all the counsel that we two have shar'd, The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent, When we have chid the hasty-footed time For parting us,—0! is all forgot
Стр. 501 - Solar. My wind, cooling my broth, Would blow me to an ague, when I thought What harm a wind too great might do at sea. I should not see the sandy hour-glass run, But I should think of shallows and of flat-. And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand

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