The plays and poems of William Shakespeare, ed. by J.P. Collier, Volume 1

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Page 31 - I' the commonwealth I would by contraries Execute all things ; for no kind of traffic Would I admit ; no name of magistrate ; Letters should not be known ; riches, poverty, And use of service, none ; contract, succession, Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none ; No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil ; No occupation ; all men idle, all ; And women too, — but innocent and pure ; No sovereignty, — Seb.
Page 28 - Well believe this, No ceremony that to great ones 'longs, ^~ Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword, The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe, Become them with one half so good a grace As mercy does.
Page 63 - Take, oh take those lips away, That so sweetly were forsworn ; And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn : But my kisses bring again, , bring again, ' . -' Seals of love, but seal'd in vain.
Page 40 - A strange fish ! Were I in England now, (as once I was,) and had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver : there would this monster make a man ; a Wwwd — twisted round.
Page 74 - The charm dissolves apace, And as the morning steals upon the night, Melting the darkness, so their rising senses Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle Their clearer reason.
Page 74 - Where the bee sucks, there suck I; In a cowslip's bell I lie : There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat's back I do fly, After summer, merrily : Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
Page 47 - Ay, but to die, and go we know not where ; To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot ; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod...
Page 59 - O, it is monstrous! monstrous! Methought, the billows spoke, and told me of it; The winds did sing it to me; and the thunder, That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc'd The name of Prosper; it did bass my trespass. Therefore my son i" the ooze is bedded ; and I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded, And with him there lie mudded.
Page 46 - The sense of death is most in apprehension ; And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies.

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