The Dramatic Writings of Will. Shakespeare: With Introductory Prefaces to Each Play ; Printed Complete from the Best Editions, 第 7 卷R. Morison Junr., 1798 |
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againſt anfwer Anne art thou Bard Bardolph BENVOLIO better Caius CAPULET coufin dead death defire doft Doll doth Enter Exeunt Exit fack faid FALSTAFF father fent feven fhall fhew fhould fince fir John flain fleep fome Ford foul fpeak fpirit Friar LAWRENCE ftand fuch fure fwear fweet fword gentleman give Harry hath hear heart heaven Henry Herne the hunter himſelf Hoft honeft honour horfe horſe houfe houſe humour huſband Juft Juliet king knave lady lord mafter Brook marry Mercutio miftrefs miſtreſs moft moſt muft muſt myſelf never night Northumberland Nurfe peace Percy Pift pleaſe Poins pray prince prince of Wales Quic rafcal reafon Romeo SCENE Shal ſhall Shallow ſhe Slen ſpeak ſtand ſtay tell thee thefe there's theſe thofe thou art Tybalt Weft whofe wife yourſelf
热门引用章节
第50页 - There is a history in all men's lives, Figuring the nature of the times deceased ; The which observed, a man may prophesy, With a near aim, of the main chance of things As yet not come to life, which in their seeds And weak beginnings lie intreasured.
第89页 - tis no matter; Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on ? how then ? Can honour set to a leg? No. Or an arm? No. Or take away the grief of a wound ? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery then ? No. What is honour? A word. What is in that word, honour? What is that honour? Air. A trim reckoning ! — Who hath it? He that died o
第105页 - I know thee not, old man: Fall to thy prayers ; How ill white hairs become a fool, and jester!
第67页 - It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale : look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east : Night's candles are burnt out...
第89页 - Can honour set to a leg? no: or an arm? no: or take away the grief of a wound? no. Honour hath no skill in surgery, then? no. What is honour? a word. What is in that word honour? what is that honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? he that died o
第31页 - The orchard walls are high, and hard to climb, And the place death, considering who thou art, If any of my kinsmen find thee here.
第21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.
第14页 - But, I remember, when the fight was done, When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil, Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly...
第89页 - Wednesday. Doth he feel it ? No. Doth he hear it? No. Is it insensible then ? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living ? No. Why ? Detraction will not suffer it : — therefore I'll none of it: Honour is a mere 'scutcheon, and so ends my catechism.
第83页 - Alack, alack, is it not like that I So early waking, what with loathsome smells And shrieks like mandrakes...