Show his eyes, and grieve his heart! Come like shadows, so depart. Activ. Sc. I. What will the line stretch out to the crack of Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell. Stands Scotland where it did? Activ. Sc. 3. Activ. Sc. 3. Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak, Whispers the o'erfraught heart, and bids it break. Activ. Sc. 3. What, all my pretty chickens, and their dam, Act iv. Sc. 3. I cannot but remember such things were, That were most precious to me. Act iv. Sc. 3. O, I could play the woman with mine eyes, Act iv. Sc. 3. Fie, my lord, fie, a soldier and afeared. Act v. Sc. 1. All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Act v. Sc. 1. My way of life Is fallen into the sear, the yellow leaf; And that which should accompany old age, Not so sick, my lord, As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies, Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased; Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow; Act v. Sc. 3. Raze out the written troubles of the brain; Act v. Sc. 3. Therein the patient must minister to himself. Act v. Sc. 3. Throw physic to the dogs: I'll none of it. Act v. Sc. 3. I would applaud thee to the very echo, Act v. Sc. 3. Hang out our banners on the outward walls; Act v. Sc. 5. I have supped full with horrors. Act v. Sc. 5. To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Act v. Sc. 5. Lies like truth. Act v. Sc. 5. Blow, wind! come, wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back. Act v. Sc. 5. I bear a charmed life. Act v. Sc. 7. That palter with us in a double sense; That keep the word of promise to our ear, Act v. Sc. 7. Lay on, Macduff; And damned be him that first cries, Hold, enough! HAMLET. Act v. Sc. 7. This bodes some strange eruption to our state. Acti. Sc. 1. Does not divide the Sunday from the week. Acti. Sc. I. Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day. In the most high and palmy state of Rome, A little ere the mightiest Julius fell, Act i. Sc. 1. The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead And then it started like a guilty thing Act i. Sc. 1. Act i. Sc. 1. Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes The head is not more native to the heart. Acti. Sc. 1. Acti. Sc. 2. A little more than kin, and less than kind. Acti. Sc. 2. Seems, madam! nay, it is; I know not seems. Acti. Sc. 2. But I have that within which passeth show; O that this too, too solid flesh would melt, Or that the Everlasting had not fixed Acti. Sc. 2. His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God! Acti. Sc. 2. That it should come to this! Acti. Sc. 2. Hyperion to a satyr! so loving to my mother, Why, she would hang on him, Acti. Sc. 2. My father's brother; but no more like my father Acti. Sc. 2. Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral baked meats Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. Acti. Sc. 2. In my mind's eye, Horatio. Acti. Sc. 2. He was a man, take him for all in all, |