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Anon arms art thou articulation black crows blood bosom brave breath brow Brutus Caesar Canute Capt Cassius Cato child cried dare dear death diphthong dost Dowlas dreadful earth Elocution eyes father fear feel gentlemen Gesler gesture give grace hand hast hath head hear heard heart heaven honor hope House of Commons human Huon Iago Ireland king Lady learned friend liberty live Lochinvar look look'd lord Michael Cassio mind nature never night noble Norv o'er once passion peace pitch poor pray pride proud Rolla Roman Rome round sare Shakspere Shylock Sir Anth slavery sleep smile soul sound speak speech spirit sure syllables tears Tell thee thing thou art thought tongue trembling triphthongs Twas utterance vocal voice vowel waves wife wild wish word young
第257页 - Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus ; but use all gently ; for in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. Oh, 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...
第256页 - 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 undiscover'd 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...
第247页 - My story being done, She gave me for my pains a world of sighs; She swore, in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange; Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful. She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'd That heaven had made her such a man; she thank'd me, And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her, I should but teach him how to tell my story, And that would woo her.
第251页 - Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones; So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus Hath told you Caesar was ambitious: If it were so, it was a grievous fault, And grievously hath Caesar answer'd. it. Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest,— For Brutus is an honorable man; So are they all, all honorable men— Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral.
第250页 - Brutus' love to Caesar was no less than his. If, then, that friend demand why Brutus rose against Caesar, "this is my answer: Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more. Had you rather Caesar were living, and die all slaves, than that Caesar were dead, to live all...
第206页 - Help me, Cassius, or I sink. I, as .<Eneas, our great ancestor, Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber Did I the tired Caesar.
第284页 - His steps are not upon thy paths, - thy fields Are not a spoil for him, - thou dost arise And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray And howling, to his Gods, where haply lies His petty hope in some near port or bay, And dashest him again to earth: - there let him lay.
第257页 - ... twere, the mirror up to nature ; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure.
第54页 - ... little did I dream that I should have lived to see such disasters fall upon her in a nation of gallant men, in a nation of men of honor and of cavaliers. I thought ten thousand swords must have leaped from their scabbards to avenge even a look that threatened her with insult. But the age of chivalry is gone. That of sophisters, economists, and calculators has succeeded ; and the glory of Europe is extinguished forever.
第284页 - Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests; in all time Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark-heaving; boundless, endless, and sublime — The image of Eternity — the throne Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.