The Plays and Poems of William Shakspeare: In Ten Volumes: Collated Verbatim with the Most Authentick Copies, and Revised; with the Corrections and Illustrations of Various Commentators; to which are Added, an Essay on the Chronological Order of His Plays; an Essay Relative to Shakspeare and Jonson; a Dissertation on the Three Parts of King Henry VI; an Historical Account of the English Stage; and Notes; by Edmond Malone, Volume 10H. Baldwin, 1790 |
Common terms and phrases
alfo Andronicus Antony and Cleopatra authour beauty becauſe beft breaft caufe Coriolanus Cymbeline death defire doft doth expreffion eyes faid fair falfe fame fear feems feen felfe fenfe fhall fhame fhould fighs fight fignified flain fleep fome foon forrow foul fpeak ftand ftill fuch fuppofe fupport fure fweet hart hath heart Henry VI himſelf honour Ibidem King Henry King Richard III laft loft lord Love's Lucius lyfe Macbeth MALONE moft muft muſt myſelf night obferved old copy paffage paffion pleaſure poem poet prefent quarto Rape of Lucrece reafon reft Richard Rome Romeo and Juliet Romeus Shakspeare Shakspeare's ſhall ſhe Sonnet ſpeak STEEVENS ſtill ſweet tears thee thefe theſe theyr thine thofe thoſe thou art thought thouſand Timon of Athens Titus Titus Andronicus Troilus and Creffida ufed unto uſed Venus and Adonis whilft whofe Whoſe word
Popular passages
Page 284 - 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.
Page 299 - Coral is far more red than her lips' red; If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses damask'd, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound; I grant I never saw a goddess go; My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.
Page 310 - So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men, And Death once dead, there's no more dying then.
Page 204 - ... even by the selfsame sky, Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease, And wear their brave state out of memory; Then the conceit of this inconstant stay Sets you most rich in youth before my sight, Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay, To change your day of youth to sullied night And, all in war with Time for love of you, As he takes from you, I engraft you new.
Page 249 - No longer mourn for me when I am dead Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell : Nay, if you read this line, remember not The hand that writ it; for I love you so That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot If thinking on me then should make you woe.
Page 267 - They that have power to hurt and will do none, That do not do the thing they most do show, Who, moving others, are themselves as stone, Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow, They rightly do inherit heaven's graces And husband nature's riches from expense ; They are the lords and owners of their faces, Others but stewards of their excellence.
Page 279 - O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide, The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, That did not better for my life provide Than public means which public manners breeds. Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, And almost thence my nature is subdued To what it works in, like the dyer's hand.
Page 262 - Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now; Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross, Join with the spite of fortune...
Page 271 - The forward violet thus did I chide : Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells, If not from my love's breath ? The purple pride Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed.
Page 211 - O'ercharged with burden of mine own love's might. O, let my books be then the eloquence And dumb presagers of my speaking breast, Who plead for love and look for recompense More than that tongue that more hath more express'd.