A few notes on Shakespeare, with occasional remarks on the emendations of the manuscript-corrector in mr. Collier's copy of the folio 1632

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J.R. Smith, 1853 - 156 strán (strany)
 

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Strana 137 - What art thou, that usurp'st this time of night, Together with that fair and warlike form In which the majesty of buried Denmark Did sometimes march ? by heaven I charge thee, speak.
Strana 105 - 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 for ever hide me.
Strana 128 - Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd ; Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow; Raze out the written troubles of the brain ; And with some sweet oblivious antidote Cleanse the stuffd bosom of that perilous stuff Which weighs upon the heart?
Strana 120 - Thine own begotten, breaking violent way, Tore through my entrails, that with fear and pain Distorted all my nether shape thus grew...
Strana 119 - If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me, Without my stir. Ban. New honours come upon him Like our strange garments ; cleave not to their mould, But with the aid of use. Macb. Come what come may ; Time and the hour runs through the roughest day.
Strana 60 - Flying between the cold moon and the earth, Cupid all arm'd: a certain aim he took At a fair vestal throned by the west, And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow, As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts : But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft Quench'd in the chaste beams of the watery moon, And the imperial votaress passed on, In maiden meditation, fancy-free.
Strana 8 - If by your art, my dearest father, you have Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them. The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch, But that the sea, mounting to th' welkin's cheek, Dashes the fire out.
Strana 120 - Than wishest should be undone. Hie thee hither, That I may pour my spirits in thine ear, And chastise with the valour of my tongue All that impedes thee from the golden round, Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem To have thee crown'd withal.
Strana 81 - Let be, let be ! Would I were dead, but that, methinks, already I am but dead, stone looking upon stone. What was he that did make it?
Strana 80 - And in the midst their monarch and his bride. So featly tripp'd the light-foot ladies round, The knights so nimbly o'er the greensward bound, That scarce they bent the flowers, or touch'd the ground.

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