The Works of Shakespeare: the Text Carefully Restored According to the First Editions: Editor's preface; Didication; Commendatory verses; Tempest; Two gentlemen of Verona; Merry wives of Windsor; Twelfth nightJ. Munroe, 1851 |
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Стр. 4
... poor crazed poet may have put one name for another , it seems more likely that in the disorder of his mind his recollections of The Tempest itself got mixed up with other matter . Mr. Collier says : " We have turned over the pages of ...
... poor crazed poet may have put one name for another , it seems more likely that in the disorder of his mind his recollections of The Tempest itself got mixed up with other matter . Mr. Collier says : " We have turned over the pages of ...
Стр. 21
... Poor souls ! they perish'd . Had I been any god of power , I would Have sunk the sea within the earth , or e'er1 It should the good ship so have swallow'd , and The fraughting souls within her . Pro . Be collected : No more amazement ...
... Poor souls ! they perish'd . Had I been any god of power , I would Have sunk the sea within the earth , or e'er1 It should the good ship so have swallow'd , and The fraughting souls within her . Pro . Be collected : No more amazement ...
Стр. 22
... poor cell , And thy no greater father . Mira . More to know " Tis time Did never meddle 3 with my thoughts . Pro . I should inform thee further . Lend thy hand , And pluck my magic garment from me . Lie there , my art . * comfort ...
... poor cell , And thy no greater father . Mira . More to know " Tis time Did never meddle 3 with my thoughts . Pro . I should inform thee further . Lend thy hand , And pluck my magic garment from me . Lie there , my art . * comfort ...
Стр. 25
... a sinner to truth by lying , that he came to believe his own lie . " In like manner Tacitus says of certain men , fingebant simul credebant- que . H. VOL . I. 3 Absolute Milan : Me , poor man ! — my SC . II . 25 THE TEMPEST .
... a sinner to truth by lying , that he came to believe his own lie . " In like manner Tacitus says of certain men , fingebant simul credebant- que . H. VOL . I. 3 Absolute Milan : Me , poor man ! — my SC . II . 25 THE TEMPEST .
Стр. 26
... poor Milan ! ) To most ignoble stooping . Mira . O the heavens ! Pro . Mark his condition , and the event ; then tell me , If this might be a brother . Mira . I should sin To think but nobly of my grandmother : Good wombs have borne bad ...
... poor Milan ! ) To most ignoble stooping . Mira . O the heavens ! Pro . Mark his condition , and the event ; then tell me , If this might be a brother . Mira . I should sin To think but nobly of my grandmother : Good wombs have borne bad ...
Часто встречающиеся слова и выражения
ARIEL better Caius Caliban called devil dost doth Duke Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fairies Falstaff father fool gentle gentlemen Gentlemen of Verona give hath hear heart heaven Henry IV Herne the hunter honour Host HUGH EVANS humour Illyria Julia king knave knight lady Laun Launce lord madam Malvolio Marry master Brook master doctor means Milan mind Mira mistress Ford never Olivia Pist play Poet Poet's pr'ythee pray Prospero Proteus Quick Re-enter SCENE Sebastian servant Shakespeare Shal Silvia Sir Andrew Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK Sir Hugh Sir John Sir John Falstaff Sir Toby Sir TOBY BELCH Slen Slender soul speak Speed spirit sweet Sycorax tell Tempest thee there's thing thou art thou hast Thurio Trin Twelfth Night Valentine Verona Windsor woman word
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Стр. 104 - tis true, I must be here confin'd by you, Or sent to Naples : Let me not, Since I have my dukedom got, And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell In this bare island, by your spell ; But release me from my bands, With the help of your good hands ', Gentle breath of yours my sails Must fill, or else my project fails, Which was to please : Now I want Spirits to enforce, art to enchant ; And my ending is despair, Unless I be reliev'd by prayer ; Which pierces so, that it assaults Mercy itself, and frees all faults....
Стр. 92 - gainst my fury Do I take part: the rarer action is In virtue than in vengeance: they being penitent, The sole drift of my purpose doth extend Not a frown further.
Стр. 331 - If all the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd's tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy Love.
Стр. xxviii - For whilst, to the shame of slow-endeavouring art, Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart • Hath, from the leaves of thy unvalued book, Those Delphic lines with deep impression took, Then thou, our fancy of itself bereaving, Dost make us marble, with too much conceiving ; And, so sepulchred in such pomp dost lie, That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.
Стр. 72 - Be not afeard ; the isle is full of noises, Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not. Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments Will hum about mine ears, and sometimes voices That, if I then had waked after long sleep, Will make me sleep again : and then, in dreaming, The clouds methought would open and show riches Ready to drop upon me, that, when I waked, I cried to dream again.
Стр. 93 - 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.
Стр. 93 - 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.
Стр. 92 - Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid, Weak masters though ye be, I have bedimm'd The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds, And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault Set roaring war...
Стр. 77 - 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" the ooze is bedded ; and I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded, And with him there lie mudded.
Стр. 92 - By moon-shine do the green-sour ringlets make, Whereof the ewe not bites ; and you, whose pastime Is to make midnight mushrooms ; that rejoice To hear the solemn curfew ; by whose aid (Weak masters though ye be,) I have be-dimm'd The noon-tide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds, And...