The tragedy of King Lear

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Roycroft, 1904 - 147 pages
 

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Page 72 - 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 despis'd old man.
Page 111 - 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 yon...
Page 100 - Here, take this purse, thou whom the heavens' plagues Have humbled to all strokes. That I am wretched Makes thee the happier. Heavens, deal so still. Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man, That slaves your ordinance, that will not see Because he does not feel, feel your power quickly; So distribution should undo excess, And each man have enough.
Page 76 - Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides, Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you From seasons such as these...
Page 111 - 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 30 - Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend To make this creature fruitful! Into her womb convey sterility! Dry up in her the organs of increase; And from her derogate body never spring A babe to honour her! If she must teem, Create her child of spleen, that it may live And be a thwart disnatur'd torment to her!
Page 145 - Her voice was ever soft, Gentle, and low, — an excellent thing in woman.
Page 34 - Lear. O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven ! Keep me in temper : I would not be mad ! — Enter Gentleman.
Page 147 - Lear. And my poor fool is hang'd! No, no, no life! Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more, Never, never, never, never, never!
Page 85 - False justicer, why hast thou let her 'scape? Edg. Bless thy five wits ! Kent. O pity ! Sir, where is the patience now, That you so oft have boasted to retain ! Edg. (aside). My tears begin to take his part so much, They'll mar my counterfeiting. Lear. The little dogs and all, Tray, Blanch, and Sweet-heart, see, they bark at me.

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