THE WORKS OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE VOL. XI

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Page 83 - With a bare bodkin ? who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life ; But that the dread of something after death, — The undiscovered country, from whose bourn No traveller returns, — puzzles the will ; And makes us rather bear those ills we have, Than fly to others that we know not of ? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all...
Page 152 - tis not to come ; if it be not to come, it will be now ; if it be not now, yet it will come : the readiness is all.
Page 78 - O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I ! Is it not monstrous, that this player here, But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, Could force his soul so to his own conceit, That, from her working, all his visage wann'd ; Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect, A broken voice, and his whole function suiting With forms to his conceit ? And all for nothing...
Page 86 - O ! it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings...
Page 87 - And let those, that play your clowns, speak no more than is set down for them : for there be of them, that will themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren spectators to laugh too ; though, in the mean time, some necessary question}: of the play be then to be considered : that's villainous ; and shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it.
Page 428 - Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls : Who steals my purse steals trash ; 'tis something, nothing ; 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands ; But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him And makes me poor indeed.
Page 109 - Assume a virtue, if you have it not. That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat, Of habits devil, is angel yet in this, That to the use of actions fair and good He likewise gives a frock or livery, That aptly is put on.
Page 49 - I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul ; freeze thy young blood ; Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres ; Thy knotted and combined locks to part, And each particular hair to stand on end, Like quills upon the fretful porcupine...
Page 34 - Seems, madam ! nay, it is ; I know not 'seems.' 'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, Nor customary suits of solemn black, Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath, No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, Nor the dejected haviour of the visage, Together with all forms...
Page 270 - 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? O! I have ta'en Too little care of this. Take physic, pomp; Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, That thou may'st shake the superflux to them, And show the heavens more just.

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