The Comedies, Histories, Tragedies, and Poems of William Shakspere: Comedies, vol. 2. Much ado about nothing. Merry wives of Windsor. As you like it. Twelfth night. Measure for measure. A winter's tale. The tempest
C. Knight, 1852
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Act II ANNE Appears arms battle bear better blood body brother Buck Buckingham CADE called cardinal cause Clarence Clifford comes crown dead death doth doubt duke Earl Edward Eliz enemies England Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair father fear fight folio follow Forces France friends give Gloster grace hand hast hath head hear heart Heaven Henry highness Holinshed honour hope John keep king king's lady leave live London look lord madam Margaret master mean mind never night noble once peace person play poor pray prince quartos queen rest Rich Richard SCENE sent side soldiers Somerset soul speak stand stay Suffolk sweet sword Talbot tell thank thee thing thou thought Tower true unto Warwick wife York young
Strana 491 - Why, well : Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. I know myself now ; and I feel within me A peace above all earthly dignities, A still and quiet conscience.
Strana 234 - To kings that fear their subjects' treachery? O, yes, it doth; a thousand-fold it doth! And to conclude, the shepherd's homely curds, His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle, His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, Is far beyond a prince's delicates, His viands sparkling in a golden cup, His body couched in a curious bed, When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him.
Strana 302 - Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them— Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace...
Strana 490 - Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness! This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him; The third day comes a frost, a killing frost; And, when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root, And then he falls, as I, do.
Strana 490 - 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. Vain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate ye ; I feel my heart new open'd : O, how wretched Is that poor man, that hangs on princes...
Strana 475 - Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain-tops that freeze, Bow themselves, when he did sing : To his music, plants and flowers Ever sprung : as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring. Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing, die.
Strana 487 - The letter, as I live, with all the business I writ to his holiness. Nay then, farewell ! I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness : And, from that full meridian of my glory, I haste now to my setting. I shall fall Like a bright exhalation in the evening, And no man see me more.
Strana 492 - Good Cromwell, Neglect him not; make use now, and provide For thine own future safety. Cromwell. O my lord! Must I then, leave you? must I needs forego So good, so noble, and so true a master? Bear witness all that have not hearts of iron, With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord. The king shall have my service; but my prayers For ever and for ever, shall be yours.
Strana 234 - O God! methinks it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run, How many make the hour full complete; How many hours bring about the day; How many days will finish up the year; How many years a mortal man may live. When this is known, then to divide the times: So many hours must I tend my flock; So many hours must I take my rest; So many hours must I contemplate; So many...
Strana 492 - s dry our eyes : and thus far hear me, Cromwell ; And, — when I am forgotten, as I shall be ; And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me more must be heard of, — say, I taught thee, Say, Wolsey, — that once trod the ways of glory, And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, — Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ; A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it.