Shakespeare's plays for schools, abridged and annotated by C.M. Yonge. (Standards vi and vii). [5 pt. Henry iv. pts. 1 and 2; Henry v; Richard ii and Julius Caesar].

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Page 34 - Wilt thou, upon the high and giddy mast, Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains In cradle of the rude imperious surge, And in the visitation of the winds, Who take the ruffian billows by the top, Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them With deafening clamours in the slippery clouds, That, with the hurly, death itself awakes...
Page 35 - Who take the ruffian billows by the top, Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them With deaf'ning clamours in the slippery clouds, That, with the hurly, death itself awakes ? Canst thou, O partial sleep! give thy repose To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude; And, in the calmest and most stillest night, With all appliances and means to boot, Deny it to a king ? Then, happy low, lie down ! Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
Page 39 - tis certain ; very sure, very sure : death, as the Psalmist saith, is certain to all ; all shall die.
Page 90 - I know thee not, old man. Fall to thy prayers ; How ill white hairs become a fool, and jester ! I have long dreamed of such a kind of man.
Page 76 - Laud be to God ! — even there my life must end. It hath been prophesied to me many years, I should not die but in Jerusalem ; Which vainly I supposed the Holy Land. — But bear me to that chamber ; there I'll lie ; In that Jerusalem shall Harry die.
Page 10 - Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me : the brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not able to invent any thing that tends to laughter, more than I invent or is invented on me : I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men.
Page 24 - Windsor, thou didst swear to me then, as I was washing thy wound, to marry me and make me my lady thy wife. Canst thou deny it ? Did not goodwife Keech, the butcher's wife, come in then and call me gossip Quickly?
Page 36 - O, if this were seen, The happiest youth, viewing his progress through, What perils past, what crosses to ensue, Would shut the book and sit him down and die.
Page 34 - O gentle Sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down, And steep my senses in forgetfulness ! Why, rather, Sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs. Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber ; Than in the perfumed chambers of the great...

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