As You Like it

Predný obal
Allyn and Bacon, 1922 - 161 strán (strany)
 

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Strana 156 - Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove : O, no ! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken ; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth "s unknown, although his height be taken.
Strana 159 - His mind and hand went together ; and what he thought, he uttered with that easiness, that we have scarce received from him a blot in his papers.
Strana 35 - Tis but an hour ago since it was nine, And after one hour more 'twill be eleven ; And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot ; And thereby hangs a tale.
Strana 127 - They say he is already in the forest of Arden, and a many merry men with him ; and there they live like the old Robin Hood of England. They say many young gentlemen flock to him every day, and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world.
Strana 36 - Invest me in my motley ; give me leave To speak my mind, and I will through and through Cleanse the foul body of the infected world, If they will patiently receive my medicine.
Strana 40 - With spectacles on nose and pouch on side, His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank ; and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
Strana 43 - No more but that I know, the more one sickens, the worse at ease he is; and that he that wants money, means, and content, is without three good friends...
Strana 23 - Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out Upon the brook that brawls along this wood : To the which place a poor...
Strana 86 - It was a lover and his lass, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, That o'er the green corn-field did pass In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding : Sweet lovers love the spring.
Strana 169 - This pencil take (she said), whose colours clear Richly paint the vernal year : Thine, too, these golden keys, immortal Boy! This can unlock the gates of Joy; Of Horror that, and thrilling Fears, Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic Tears.

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