The Works of Shakespeare ...

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Bobbs-Merrill Company, 1923
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Page 20 - 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 187 - 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 164 - It ascends me into the brain ; dries me there all the foolish and dull and crudy vapours which environ it ; makes it apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble fiery and delectable shapes ; which, delivered o'er to the voice, the tongue, which is the birth, becomes excellent wit.
Page 110 - 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...
Page 186 - Therefore, my Harry, Be it thy course, to busy giddy minds With foreign quarrels; that action, hence borne out, May waste the memory of the former days.
Page 113 - God! that one might read the book of fate, And see the revolution of the times Make mountains level, and the continent, Weary of solid firmness, melt itself Into the sea; and other times to see The beachy girdle of the ocean Too wide for Neptune's hips; how chances mock, And changes fill the cup of alteration With divers liquors! 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 219 - King. I know thee not, old man : fall to thy prayers ; How ill white hairs become a fool and...

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