Othello ; Coriolanus ; Timon of AthensBradbury, Agnew, and Company, 1867 - Drama |
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Page 7
... thou hast heard me say My daughter is not for thee ; and now , in mad- ness , ( Being full of supper and distempering draughts , ) Upon malicious bravery , dost thou come To start my quiet . Rod . Sir , sir , sir , — Bra . But thou must ...
... thou hast heard me say My daughter is not for thee ; and now , in mad- ness , ( Being full of supper and distempering draughts , ) Upon malicious bravery , dost thou come To start my quiet . Rod . Sir , sir , sir , — Bra . But thou must ...
Page 13
William Shakespeare. Bra . O thou foul thief , where hast thou stow'd my daughter ? Damn'd as thou art , thou hast enchanted her : For I'll refer me to all things of sense , ( If she in chains of magic were not bound , ) Whether a maid ...
William Shakespeare. Bra . O thou foul thief , where hast thou stow'd my daughter ? Damn'd as thou art , thou hast enchanted her : For I'll refer me to all things of sense , ( If she in chains of magic were not bound , ) Whether a maid ...
Page 26
... thou the wars ; defeat thy favour with an usurped beard ; I say , put money in thy purse . It can- not be long that ... art sure of me ; -go , make money : I have told thee often , and I re - tell thee again and again , I hate the Moor : my ...
... thou the wars ; defeat thy favour with an usurped beard ; I say , put money in thy purse . It can- not be long that ... art sure of me ; -go , make money : I have told thee often , and I re - tell thee again and again , I hate the Moor : my ...
Page 42
... thou art but of low degree : ' Tis pride that pulls the country down , Then take thine auld cloak about thee . Some wine , ho ! Cas . Why this is a more exquisite song than the other . Iago . Will you hear't again ? Cas . No ; for I ...
... thou art but of low degree : ' Tis pride that pulls the country down , Then take thine auld cloak about thee . Some wine , ho ! Cas . Why this is a more exquisite song than the other . Iago . Will you hear't again ? Cas . No ; for I ...
Page 47
... Thou dost deliver more or less than truth , Thou art no soldier . Iago . Touch me not so near : I had rather have this tongue cut from my mouth , Than it should do offence to Michael Cassio ; Yet , I persuade myself , to speak the truth ...
... Thou dost deliver more or less than truth , Thou art no soldier . Iago . Touch me not so near : I had rather have this tongue cut from my mouth , Than it should do offence to Michael Cassio ; Yet , I persuade myself , to speak the truth ...
Common terms and phrases
Alcib Alcibiades Antium Apem Apemantus Athens Aufidius bear beseech blood Brabantio Caius Marcius CAPHIS Cassio Citizens Cominius consul Coriolanus Corioli Cyprus Desdemona do't dost thou doth Duke Emil EMILIA enemy Enter Exeunt Exit eyes farewell fear fellow Flav fool fortune friends gentlemen give gods gold handkerchief hate hath hear heart heaven honest honour Iago is't knave lady Lart lieutenant look lord Timon Lucullus matter Menenius Michael Cassio mistress Moor mother ne'er never noble on't Othello patricians peace PHRYNIA Poet poor pr'ythee pray Re-enter Roderigo Roman Rome SCENE Senators Serv Servant SICINIUS slave soldier soul speak sweet sword tell thee there's thine thing thou art thou hast thyself TITUS LARTIUS to-night to't tribunes true trumpet twas Venice villain VIRGILIA voices Volsces Volscian VOLUMNIA what's wife worthy
Popular passages
Page 111 - It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul — Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars ! — It is the cause. Yet I'll not shed her blood; Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow, And smooth as monumental alabaster.
Page 68 - Look, where he comes ! Not poppy, nor mandragora, Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep Which thou ow'dst yesterday.
Page 25 - tis in ourselves that we are thus, or thus. Our bodies are our gardens ; to the which our wills are gardeners : so that if we will plant nettles, or sow lettuce ; set hyssop, and weed up thyme ; supply it with one gender of herbs, or distract it with many ; either to have it sterile with idleness, or manured with industry ; why, the power and corrigible authority of this lies in our wills.
Page 68 - O ! now, for ever Farewell the tranquil mind ; farewell content ! Farewell the plumed troop and the big wars That make ambition virtue ! O, farewell ! Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, The royal banner, and all quality, Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war...
Page 19 - I spake of most disastrous chances, Of moving accidents by flood and field, Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly breach, Of being taken by the insolent foe And sold to slavery, of my redemption thence And portance in my...
Page 72 - Never, lago. Like to the Pontic sea, Whose icy current and compulsive course Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on To the Propontic and the Hellespont ; Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace, Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love. Till that a capable and wide revenge Swallow them up.
Page 61 - Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls: Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing ; 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands ; But he that filches from me my good name, Robs me of that which not enriches him, And makes me poor indeed.
Page 49 - I remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly; a quarrel, but nothing wherefore. — O that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains ! that we should, with joy, pleasance, revel, and applause, transform ourselves into beasts ! lago.
Page 111 - I'll not shed her blood ; Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow, And smooth as monumental alabaster. Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men. Put out the light, and then put out the light.
Page 121 - tis a lost fear ; Man but a rush against Othello's breast, And he retires ; — where should Othello go ?— Now, how dost thou look now? O ill-starr'd wench ! Pale as thy smock ! when we shall meet at compt, This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven, And fiends will snatch at it.