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Æmil Æmilia art thou aster Benvolio besore blood Brabantio Caffio Capulet Clown Cyprus daughter dead dear death described Desdemona dost thou doth Duke Enter Ev'n Exeunt Exit eyes Farewel father Fortinbras foul French Friar Friar Lawrence gentleman give Hamlet hand hath hear heart heav'n himsels hither honest honour Horatio husband Iago is't Juliet King knave Lady Laer Laertes lago lise look Lord Madam Mantua married Mercutio Montague Moor mother murther night noble Nurse o'er Ophelia Othello play Polonius pray Prince Queen Rodorigo Romeo sather SCENE sear shew sirst sool soul speak speech srom sweet sword tell thee there's theresore thine thing Thirl thofe thou art thou hast to-night Tybalt viii villain weep whofe wife wilt word young
第145页 - Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, And batten on this moor ? Ha ! have you eyes ? You cannot call it love, for at your age The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble, And waits upon the judgment ; and what judgment Would step from this to this ? Sense, sure, you have.
第25页 - Would through the airy region stream so bright, That birds would sing, and think it were not night — See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand ! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek ! Jul.
第103页 - 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175页 - I loved Ophelia: forty thousand brothers Could not with all their quantity of love, Make up my sum.
第27页 - Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night: It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be Ere one can say 'It lightens.
第155页 - ... and my blood, And let all sleep, while to my shame I see The imminent death of twenty thousand men, That for a fantasy and trick of fame Go to their graves like beds, fight for a plot Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause, Which is not tomb enough and continent To hide the slain ? O, from this time forth, My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth ! \Exit.
第117页 - ... this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory, this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.
第175页 - Dost thou come here to whine ? To outface me with leaping in her grave ? Be buried quick with her, and so will I : And, if thou prate of mountains, let them throw Millions of acres on us, till our ground, Singeing his pate against the burning zone, Make Ossa like a wart ! Nay, an thou'lt mouth, I'll rant as well as thou.
第123页 - I'll leave you till night; you are welcome to Elsinore. Ros. Good my lord ! [Exeunt Rosencrantz and Giiildenstern. Ham. Ay, so, God be wi' ye :—Now I am alone. O, what a rogue and 'peasant slave am I ! Is it not monstrous that this player here, But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, Could force his soul so to his own conceit...