The works of Shakespeare, with corrections and illustr. from various commentators, Том 7

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Стр. 186 - Thou must be patient; we came crying hither. Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air, We wawl, and cry: — I will preach to thee; mark me. Glo. Alack, alack the day ! Lear. When we are born, we cry, that we are come To this great stage of fools...
Стр. 104 - The mysteries of Hecate, and the night ', By all the operation of the orbs From whom we do exist, and cease to be, Here I disclaim all my paternal care, Propinquity and property of blood, And as a stranger to my heart and me, Hold thee from this for ever.
Стр. 67 - Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not : Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's and truth's ; then if thou...
Стр. 149 - You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, As full of grief as age ; wretched in both ! If it be you that stir these daughters...
Стр. 154 - Lear. Let the great gods, That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads, Find out their enemies now.
Стр. 65 - But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride At length broke under me ; and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
Стр. 149 - O, reason not the need ! Our basest beggars Are in the poorest thing superfluous. Allow" not nature more than nature needs, Man's life is cheap as beast's.
Стр. 66 - ... happy, my good Cromwell. I know myself now; and I feel within me A peace above all earthly dignities, A still and quiet conscience. The king has...
Стр. 67 - Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition : By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then, The image of his Maker, hope to win by it ? Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee ; Corruption wins not more than honesty.
Стр. 126 - Create her child of spleen, that it may live And be a thwart disnatur'd torment to her. Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth, With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks, Turn all her mother's pains and benefits To laughter and contempt, that she may feel How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is To have a thankless child!

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