Life of Edwin Forrest, the American Tragedian, 第 2 卷

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J. B. Lippincott & Company, 1877 - 864 頁

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第 766 頁 - It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul, — Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars ! — It is the cause. — Yet I'll not shed her blood ; Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow, And smooth as monumental alabaster.
第 730 頁 - This supernatural soliciting Cannot be ill ; cannot be good : — If ill, Why hath it given me earnest of success, Commencing in a truth ? I am thane of Cawdor : If good, why do I yield to that suggestion Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair, And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, • Against the use of nature...
第 777 頁 - If it be you that stir these daughters' hearts Against their father, fool me not so much To bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger, And let not women's weapons, water-drops, Stain my man's cheeks! No, you unnatural hags, I will have such revenges on you both That all the world shall — I will do such things.
第 780 頁 - No, no, no life! Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more, Never, never, never, never, never!
第 746 頁 - Hold, hold, my heart ; And you, my sinews, grow not instant old, But bear me stiffly up. Remember thee ! Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat In this distracted globe.
第 738 頁 - I am in blood Stepp'd in so far, that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er : Strange things I have in head, that will to hand ; Which must be acted, ere they may be scann'd.
第 746 頁 - gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God! How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable Seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on't! ah, fie! 'tis an unweeded garden, That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature, Possess it merely.
第 764 頁 - Look, where he comes ! Not poppy, nor mandragora, Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep Which thou ow'dst yesterday.
第 746 頁 - Remember thee? Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat In this distracted globe. Remember thee? Yea, from the table of my memory I'll wipe away all trivial fond records, All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past, That youth and observation copied there; And. thy commandment all alone shall live Within the book and volume of my brain, Unmix'd with baser matter: yes, by heaven.
第 785 頁 - To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, To raise the genius, and to mend the heart, To make mankind, in conscious virtue bold, Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold...

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