What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
Other editions - View all
answer Attendants bear believe better Bianca bring brother comes Count court daughter dear death doth Duke Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair faith father fear fellow fool fortune Gent give gone hand hast hath hear heard heart heaven hold honour hope hour I'll Kath keep kind King lady leave Leon live look lord madam maid marry master mean mistress nature never noble Paul play poor pray present queen reason Rosalind SCENE servant serve speak stand stay sure sweet tell thank thee there's thing thou thou art thought Touch true wife woman young youth
Page 38 - Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon...
Page 26 - The seasons' difference : as the icy fang And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say, This is no flattery : these are counsellors That feelingly persuade me what I am.
Page 370 - O Proserpina, For the flowers now, that frighted thou let'st fall From Dis's waggon ! daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty ; violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath ; pale primroses, That die unmarried, ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength, a malady Most incident to maids...
Page 33 - Under the greenwood tree, Who loves to lie with me, And tune his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither ; Here shall he see No enemy, But winter and rough weather.
Page 273 - Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress' let me be laid; Fly away, fly away, breath; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it! My part of death, no one so true Did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweet, On my black coffin let there be strown; Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown: A thousand thousand sighs to save. Lay me. O. where Sad true lover never find my grave, To weep there!
Page 39 - Blow, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude ; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude. Heigh, ho! sing, heigh, ho! unto the green holly: Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly: Then, heigh ho ! the holly ! This life is most jolly.