Tragedy of King LearMacmillan Company, 1919 - 257 pages |
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Alack Albany Bedlam Burgundy character Child Rowland Cordeilla Cordelia Corn Cornwall Cymbeline daugh daughters dear death Dost thou doth Dover dramatic Duke Duke of Albany Duke of Cornwall Edmund Exeunt Exit eyes father fear Folio reading follow Fool fortune foul fiend France Gent gentleman give Globe Theatre Glou Gloucester's castle gods Goneril grace hath haue hear heart heaven hither I'ld Julius Cæsar Kent King Lear King of France kingdom knave lady Layamon Lear's Leir letter look lord madam master means nature never night noble nuncle old play Omitted Oswald pity plot Poems poor poor Tom pray Prithee probably Quarto reading Regan SCENE seems Servants Shakespeare sister sonne speak speech storm story Stratford sword tell thee there's thine thing thou art tragedy traitor trumpet villain vnto words
Popular passages
Page 174 - The weight of this sad time we must obey ; Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. The oldest hath borne most : we, that are young, Shall never see so much, nor live so long.
Page 149 - And, to deal plainly, I fear I am not in my perfect mind. Methinks I should know you and know this man; Yet I am doubtful; for I am mainly ignorant What place this is, and all the skill I have Remembers not these garments; nor I know not Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me; For, as I am a man, I think this lady To be my child Cordelia.
Page xl - Flying between the cold moon and the earth, Cupid all arm'd : a certain aim he took At a fair vestal throned by the west, And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow, As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts : But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft Quench'd in the chaste beams of the watery moon, And the imperial votaress passed on, In maiden meditation, fancy-free.
Page 174 - Look up, my lord. Kent. Vex not his ghost : O, let him pass ! he hates him That would upon the rack of this tough world Stretch him out longer.
Page 89 - My wits begin to turn. Come on, my boy : how dost, my boy ? art cold ? I am cold myself. Where is this straw, my fellow ? The art of our necessities is strange, That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel. Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart That's sorry yet for thee.
Page xxvi - I am as sorry as if the original fault had been my fault, because myself have seen his demeanour no less civil than he excellent in the quality he professes: besides, divers of worship have reported his uprightness of dealing which argues his honesty, and his facetious grace in writing, that approves his art.
Page 171 - I'd use them so That heaven's vault should crack. — She's gone for ever ! — I know when one is dead, and when one lives ; She's dead as earth. — Lend me a looking-glass ; If that her breath will mist or stain the stone, Why, then she lives.
Page 86 - Spit, fire ! spout, rain. Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters: I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness; I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children, You owe me no subscription : then let fall Your horrible pleasure; here I stand, your slave, A poor, infirm, weak and despised old man: But yet I call you servile ministers, That have with two pernicious daughters join'd Your high-engender'd battles 'gainst a head So old and white as this.
Page 132 - tis, to cast one's eyes so low ! The crows and choughs that wing the midway air Show scarce so gross as beetles : half way down Hangs one that gathers samphire, — dreadful trade ! Methinks he seems no bigger than his head : The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, Appear like mice ; and yond...
Page 121 - Most barbarous, most degenerate! have you madded. Could my good brother suffer you to do it? A man, a prince, by him so benefited...