A Concordance to Shakespeare: Suited to All the Editions, in which the Distinguished and Parallel Passages in the Plays of that Justly Admired Writer are Methodically Arranged. To which are Added, Three Hundred Notes and Illustrations, Entirely NewG.G.J. and J. Robinson, 1787 - 470页 |
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第7页
... tears , And with affection wond'rous fenfible He wrung Baffanio's hand , and fo they parted . Merchant of Venice , A. 2 , S. 8 . What he hath taken away from thy father per - force , I will render thee again in affection ; by mine ...
... tears , And with affection wond'rous fenfible He wrung Baffanio's hand , and fo they parted . Merchant of Venice , A. 2 , S. 8 . What he hath taken away from thy father per - force , I will render thee again in affection ; by mine ...
第12页
... tears , for his love ; joy , for his fortune ; honour , for his valour ; and death , for his ambition . Julius Cæfar , A. 3 , S. 2 . He hath brought many captives home to Rome , Unto our gentle fenfes ] How odd a character is this of ...
... tears , for his love ; joy , for his fortune ; honour , for his valour ; and death , for his ambition . Julius Cæfar , A. 3 , S. 2 . He hath brought many captives home to Rome , Unto our gentle fenfes ] How odd a character is this of ...
第30页
... tears be always fhed From thofe that with the downfal of our house ! Henry VI . P. 3 , A. 5 , S. 6 . The wrinkles on my brows , now fill'd with blood , Were liken'd oft to kingly fepulchres ; Such a jaded groom . ] This epithet appears ...
... tears be always fhed From thofe that with the downfal of our house ! Henry VI . P. 3 , A. 5 , S. 6 . The wrinkles on my brows , now fill'd with blood , Were liken'd oft to kingly fepulchres ; Such a jaded groom . ] This epithet appears ...
第32页
... Tear - falling pity dwells not in this eye . Richard III . A. 4 , S. 2 . I'll empty all these veins , And shed my dear blood drop by drop i ' the dust , But I will lift the down - trod Mortimer As high i ' the air as this unthankful ...
... Tear - falling pity dwells not in this eye . Richard III . A. 4 , S. 2 . I'll empty all these veins , And shed my dear blood drop by drop i ' the dust , But I will lift the down - trod Mortimer As high i ' the air as this unthankful ...
第44页
... tear for pity , and a hand , Open as day for melting charity ; Yet notwithstanding , being incens'd he's flint : As humorous as winter , and as fudden I bumerous as winter . ] That is , changeable as the wea- ther of a winter's day ...
... tear for pity , and a hand , Open as day for melting charity ; Yet notwithstanding , being incens'd he's flint : As humorous as winter , and as fudden I bumerous as winter . ] That is , changeable as the wea- ther of a winter's day ...
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常见术语和短语
againſt All's Antony and Cleopatra beſt blood Coriolanus Cymbeline death doft doth expreffion eyes faid fear feems fenfe fhall fhew fhould fignify firſt fleep fome fool forrow foul fpeak fpirit ftand ftill fuch fuppofe furely fweet fword Gentlemen of Verona grief Hamlet hath heart heaven Henry IV Henry V. A. Henry VI Henry VIII himſelf honour itſelf JOHNSON Julius Cæfar King John Lear lord Love's Labour Loft Meafure for Meaſure means Merchant of Venice Midfummer Night's Dream moft moſt muft muſt myſelf noble o'er obferve Othello paffage paffion praiſe prefent reafon Richard Richard II Shakeſpeare ſhall ſhe ſhould read ſpeak ſpeech ſtand ſtate STEEVENS tears Tempeft thee thefe themſelves theſe thing thofe thoſe thou art thouſand Timon of Athens tongue Troilus and Creffida Twelfth Night uſe virtue WARBURTON whofe Whoſe Winter's Tale word
热门引用章节
第343页 - Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid. Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut , Made by the joiner squirrel , or old grub , Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers. And in this state she gallops night by night Through lovers...
第12页 - As Caesar loved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honour him; but, as he was ambitious, I slew him.
第67页 - To monarchize, be fear'd and kill with looks, Infusing him with self and vain conceit, As if this flesh which walls about our life Were brass impregnable, and...
第162页 - O God! methinks it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run, How many make the hour full complete; How many hours bring about the day; How many days will finish up the year; How many years a mortal man may live.
第298页 - Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me! You would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass: and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ. Yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe?
第14页 - 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.
第139页 - element,' but the word is over-worn. \Exit. Vio. This fellow is wise enough to play the fool ; And to do that well craves a kind of wit : He must observe their mood on whom he jests, The quality of persons, and the time, And, like the haggard, check at every feather That comes before his eye.
第61页 - Cowards die many times before their deaths ; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear; Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come.
第463页 - His nature is too noble for the world : He would not flatter Neptune for his trident, Or Jove for his power to thunder. His heart's his mouth : What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent ; And, being angry, does forget that ever He heard the name of death.
第94页 - True, I talk of dreams ; Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, Which is as thin of substance as the air, And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes Even now the frozen bosom of the north, And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.