The Stoddard Library: Shakespeare-TaineG.L. Shuman & Company, 1910 - Anthologies |
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Page 7
... hope You less know how to value her desert Than she to scant her duty . Lear . Say , how is that ? Reg . I cannot think my sister in the least Would fail her obligation : if , sir , perchance She have restrain'd the riots of your ...
... hope You less know how to value her desert Than she to scant her duty . Lear . Say , how is that ? Reg . I cannot think my sister in the least Would fail her obligation : if , sir , perchance She have restrain'd the riots of your ...
Page 8
... hope Thou didst not know on't . Who comes here ? Enter GONERIL . If you do love old men , if your sweet sway Allow obedience , if yourselves are old , O heavens , Make it your cause ; send down , and take 8 SHAKESPEARE.
... hope Thou didst not know on't . Who comes here ? Enter GONERIL . If you do love old men , if your sweet sway Allow obedience , if yourselves are old , O heavens , Make it your cause ; send down , and take 8 SHAKESPEARE.
Page 37
... hope . Touch . Truly , thou art damned , like an ill - roasted egg all on one side . Cor . For not being at court ? Your reason . Touch . Why , if thou never wast at court , thou never sawest good manners ; if thou never sawest good ...
... hope . Touch . Truly , thou art damned , like an ill - roasted egg all on one side . Cor . For not being at court ? Your reason . Touch . Why , if thou never wast at court , thou never sawest good manners ; if thou never sawest good ...
Page 46
... poetical ? Touch . I do , truly ; for thou swearest to me thou art honest : now , if thou wert a poet , I might have some hope thou didst feign . Aud . Would you not have me honest ? Touch . No , truly , unless thou wert hard 46 ...
... poetical ? Touch . I do , truly ; for thou swearest to me thou art honest : now , if thou wert a poet , I might have some hope thou didst feign . Aud . Would you not have me honest ? Touch . No , truly , unless thou wert hard 46 ...
Page 53
... hope so . Ros . Why then , can one desire too much of a good thing ? Come , sister , you shall be the priest and marry us . your hand , Orlando . What do you say , sister ? Orl . Pray thee , marry us . Cel . I cannot say the words . Ros ...
... hope so . Ros . Why then , can one desire too much of a good thing ? Come , sister , you shall be the priest and marry us . your hand , Orlando . What do you say , sister ? Orl . Pray thee , marry us . Cel . I cannot say the words . Ros ...
Common terms and phrases
Acres beauty blood body breath Brutus Cæsar called Chas child Creon dead dear death Dendermond doth earth eccho ring Edipus Enter Exeunt eyes face father Faulkland fear feel fire follow Fool Galba gentleman give Glou hand hath head hear heard heart heaven honor Inchcape Rock Italy Kent king kiss Lady Teaz Laius Lear leave light live look lord Lygia Mas'r master mind Miss Ophelia nature Nelson never night Ophelia Otho poor pray Rome Rosalind round seemed servant sing Sir Luc Sir Lucius Sir Pet Sir Peter sleep soldier soul speak spirit stood sure Surf sweet sword Tabary Teazle tell thee thine things thou art thought Tiberius Tiresias uncle Toby victory Villon Vitellius wind words Zounds
Popular passages
Page 119 - I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.
Page 109 - The breath whose might I have invoked in song Descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven, Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng Whose sails were never to the tempest given; The massy earth and sphered skies are riven!
Page 62 - It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale ; look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east. Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops; I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
Page 118 - Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is: What if my leaves are falling like its own! The tumult of thy mighty harmonies Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, spirit fierce, My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!
Page 133 - I met a traveller from an antique land Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed: And on the pedestal these words appear: 'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Page 121 - The stars peep behind her and peer; And I laugh to see them whirl and flee, Like a swarm of golden bees, When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas, Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, Are each paved with the moon and these.
Page 126 - I sighed for thee; When light rode high, and the dew was gone. And noon lay heavy on flower and tree, And the weary Day turned to his rest, Lingering like an unloved guest, I sighed for thee. Thy brother Death came, and cried, Wouldst thou me? Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed, Murmured like a noontide bee, Shall I nestle near thy side? Wouldst thou me? — And I replied, No, not thee!
Page 56 - O, speak again, bright angel ! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head, As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him, When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds And sails upon the bosom of the air.
Page 11 - Stain my man's cheeks ! No, you unnatural hags, I will have such revenges on you both That all the world shall — I will do such things, — What they are, yet I know not, but they shall be The terrors of the earth.
Page 125 - Yet if we could scorn Hate and pride and fear; If we were things born Not to shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever should come near.