The New Grant White Shakespeare: Henry VIII ; Troilus and Cressida

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Little, Brown,, 1912
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第106页 - Love thyself last ; cherish those hearts that hate thee: Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not : Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's and truth's ; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr.
第194页 - And, hark what discord follows! each thing meets In mere oppugnancy: the bounded waters Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores And make a sop of all this solid globe: Strength should be lord of imbecility, And the rude son should strike his father dead: Force should be right; or rather, right and wrong, Between whose endless jar justice resides, Should lose their names, and so should justice too.
第248页 - As fast as they are made , forgot as soon As done. Perseverance , dear my lord , Keeps honour bright: to have done, is to hang Quite out of fashion , like a rusty mail In monumental mockery.
第193页 - But, when the planets, In evil mixture, to disorder wander, What plagues, and what portents? what mutiny? What raging of the sea? shaking of earth? Commotion in the winds? frights, changes, horrors, Divert and crapk, rend and deracinate The unity and married calm of states Quite from their fixure?
第102页 - Farewell ! a long farewell, to all my greatness ! This is the state of man : to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him . The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, And, — when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a-ripening, — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do.
第105页 - I have told him What, and how true thou art: he will advance thee; Some little memory of me will stir him, (I know his noble nature,) not to let Thy hopeful service perish too: Good Cromwell, Neglect him not; make use now, and provide For thine own future safety.
第249页 - O, let not virtue seek Remuneration for the thing it was ; For beauty, wit, High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service, Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all To envious and calumniating time.
第102页 - I have ventured, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under me; and now has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye: I feel my heart new opened. O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes
第112页 - O, father abbot, An old man, broken with the storms of state, Is come to lay his weary bones among ye ; Give him a little earth for charity...
第247页 - I do not strain at the position, It is familiar; but at the author's drift: Who, in his circumstance," expressly proves — That no man is the lord of any thing, (Though in and of him there be much consisting,) Till he communicate his parts to others : Nor doth he of himself know them for aught Till he behold them form'd in the applause Where they are extended ; which, like an arch, reverberates The voice again ; or like a gate of steel Fronting the sun, receives and renders back His figure and his...

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