The Handy-volume Shakspeare, Volume 3

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Bradbury, Agnew, and Company, 1866
 

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Page 283 - Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow And coughing drowns the parson's saw And birds sit brooding in the snow And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-whit; Tu-who...
Page 120 - O mistress mine, where are you roaming? O stay and hear; your true love's coming, That can sing both high and low. Trip no further, pretty sweeting; Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man's son doth know.
Page 185 - LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT I. SCENE I.— Navarre. A Park, with a palace in it. Enter the KING, BIEON, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN. King. j|ET fame, that all hunt after in their lives, Live register'd upon our brazen tombs, And then- grace us in the disgrace of death ; When, spite of cormorant devouring time, The endeavour of this present breath may buy That honour, which shall bate his scythe's keen edge, And make us heirs of all eternity.
Page 127 - Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid ; Fly away, fly away, breath ; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it 1 My part of death, no one so true Did share it.
Page 63 - Of every hearer : for it so falls out, That what we have we prize not to the worth. Whiles we enjoy it ; but being lack'd and los«t. Why, then we rack ' the value ; then we find The virtue, that possession would not show us Whiles it was ours...
Page 128 - A blank, my lord. She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek : she pined in thought, And, with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat like Patience on a monument, Smiling at grief.
Page 126 - Duke. O, fellow, come, the song we had last night. Mark it, Cesario, it is old and plain ; The spinsters and the knitters in the sun And the free maids that weave their thread with bones Do use to chant it : it is silly sooth, And dallies with the innocence of love, Like the old age.
Page 281 - A jest's prosperity lies in the ear Of him that hears it, never in the tongue Of him that makes it...
Page 95 - If music be the food of love, play on ; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again ! it had a dying fall : O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound, That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour ! Enough ; no more : 'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
Page 46 - Why then, take no note of him, but let him go ; and presently call the rest of the watch together, and thank God you are rid of a knave.

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