The plays and poems of Shakespeare, according to the improved text of E. Malone, with notes and illustr., ed. by A.J. Valpy, Zväzok 6 |
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Výsledky 1 - 5 z 60.
Strana 22
... tongue All that impedes thee from the golden round , 1 Which fate and metaphysical2 aid doth seem To have thee crown'd withal . What is your tidings ? Enter an ATTENDANT . Att . The king comes here to - night . L. Macb . Thou ' rt mad ...
... tongue All that impedes thee from the golden round , 1 Which fate and metaphysical2 aid doth seem To have thee crown'd withal . What is your tidings ? Enter an ATTENDANT . Att . The king comes here to - night . L. Macb . Thou ' rt mad ...
Strana 24
... tongue : look like the innocent flower , But be the serpent under it . He that's coming Must be provided for ; and you shall put This night's great business into my despatch ; Which shall to all our nights and days to come Give solely ...
... tongue : look like the innocent flower , But be the serpent under it . He that's coming Must be provided for ; and you shall put This night's great business into my despatch ; Which shall to all our nights and days to come Give solely ...
Strana 41
... Tongue , nor heart , Cannot conceive , nor name thee ! Macb . Len . What's the matter ? Macd . Confusion now hath made his master- piece . Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope The Lord's anointed temple , and stole thence The life o ...
... Tongue , nor heart , Cannot conceive , nor name thee ! Macb . Len . What's the matter ? Macd . Confusion now hath made his master- piece . Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope The Lord's anointed temple , and stole thence The life o ...
Strana 44
... tongues , That most may claim this argument for ours ? Don . What should be spoken Here , where our fate , hid in an augre - hole , May rush , and seise us ? Let's away ; our tears Are not yet brew'd . Mal . Nor our strong sorrow Upon ...
... tongues , That most may claim this argument for ours ? Don . What should be spoken Here , where our fate , hid in an augre - hole , May rush , and seise us ? Let's away ; our tears Are not yet brew'd . Mal . Nor our strong sorrow Upon ...
Strana 56
... tongue unsafe the while , that we Must lave our honors in these flattering streams ; And make our faces vizards to our hearts , Disguising what they are . You must leave this . L. Macb . Macb . O , full of scorpions is my mind , dear ...
... tongue unsafe the while , that we Must lave our honors in these flattering streams ; And make our faces vizards to our hearts , Disguising what they are . You must leave this . L. Macb . Macb . O , full of scorpions is my mind , dear ...
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Časté výrazy a frázy
Angiers arms art thou Arthur Attendants Aumerle Banquo BASTARD BISHOP OF CARLISLE Blanch blood Bolingbroke bosom breath castle cousin crown curse Dauphin dead death deed doth Duch duke Duncan Dunsinane England Enter KING Enter MACBETH Exeunt Exit eyes fair faith father Faulconbridge fear Fleance France friends Gaunt gentle give grace grief hand hath hear heart Heaven hither honor Hubert JAMES GURNEY John of Gaunt KING JOHN KING RICHARD knocking LADY MACBETH land liege live look lord Macb Macd Macduff majesty Melun mother murder night noble Northumberland PANDULPH peace prince Queen Rosse royal Salisbury SCENE SHAK shame sir Robert SIWARD sleep soldier sorrow soul speak sweet sword thane thane of Cawdor thee There's thine thou art thou hast thou shalt thyself tongue traitor uncle Witch words York
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Strana 23 - The effect and it ! Come to my woman's breasts, And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers, Wherever in your sightless substances You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night, And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell ! That my keen knife see not the wound it makes ; Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, To cry, " Hold, hold ! "—Great Glamis ! worthy Cawdor ! Enter MACBETH.
Strana 17 - Cannot be ill ; cannot be good : — If ill, Why hath it given me earnest of success, Commencing in a truth ? I am thane of Cawdor : If good, why do I yield to that suggestion Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair, And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, Against the use of nature...
Strana 16 - Might yet enkindle you unto the crown, Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange : And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths ; Win us with honest trifles, to betray us In deepest consequence Cousins, a word, . I pray you.
Strana 33 - Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand ? Come, let me clutch thee: I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight ? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat -oppressed brain?
Strana 14 - If you can look into the seeds of time, And say, which grain will grow, and which will not, Speak then to me, who neither beg, nor fear, Your favours, nor your hate.
Strana 264 - This land of such dear souls, this dear, dear land, Dear for her reputation through the world, Is now leas'd out (I die pronouncing it), Like to a tenement, or pelting farm: England, bound in with the triumphant sea, Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame, With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds: That England, that was wont to conquer others, Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.
Strana 27 - tis done, then 'twere well It were done quickly : if the assassination Could trammel up the consequence, and catch, With his surcease, success ; that but this blow Might be the be-all and the end-all here, But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, — We'd jump the life to come.
Strana 104 - She should have died hereafter ; There would have been a time for such a word, — To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time ; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle...
Strana 37 - Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead Are but as pictures: 'tis the eye of childhood That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal, For it must seem their guilt.
Strana 17 - I am thane of Cawdor : If good, why do I yield to that suggestion Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair, And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, • Against the use of nature ? Present fears Are less than horrible imaginings : My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man, that function Is smother'd in surmise ; and nothing is, But what is not '*. Ban, Look, how our partner's rapt.