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Strana 71 - My liege, I did deny no prisoners: 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 dress'd, Fresh as a bridegroom ; and his chin, new reap'd, Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home ; He was perfumed like a milliner...
Strana 171 - 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
Strana 72 - Out of my grief and my impatience Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what, He should, or he should not; for he made me mad To see him shine so brisk and smell so sweet And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman Of guns, and drums, and wounds, — God save the mark! — And telling me the sovereign'st thing on earth Was parmaceti for an inward bruise...
Strana 31 - twas time to counterfeit, or that hot termagant Scot had paid me scot and lot too. Counterfeit? I lie, I am no counterfeit : to die, is to be a counterfeit ; for he is but the counterfeit of a man who hath not the life of a man : but to counterfeit dying, when a man thereby liveth, is to be no counterfeit, but the true and perfect image of life indeed.
Strana 195 - I cannot blame him : at my nativity The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, Of burning cressets ; and at my birth The frame and huge foundation of the earth Shak'd like a coward.
Strana 204 - I better brook the loss of brittle life Than those proud titles thou hast won of me ; They wound my thoughts worse than thy sword my flesh : — But thought's the slave of life, and life time's fool; And time, that takes survey of all the world, Must have a stop.
Strana 55 - Whose arms were moulded in their mothers' womb To chase these pagans in those holy fields Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd For our advantage on the bitter cross.
Strana 155 - I saw young Harry, with his beaver on, His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly arm'd, Rise from the ground like feather'd Mercury, And vaulted with such ease into his seat, As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds, To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus And witch the world with noble horsemanship.
Strana 29 - Should I turn upon the true prince? Why, thou knowest. I am as valiant as Hercules ; but beware instinct ; the lion will not touch the true prince.