The Works of William Shakespeare: From the Text of the Rev. Alexander Dyce's Fourth Edition, with an Arrangement of His Glossary, Volume 9

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Mershon Company, 1885
 

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Page 228 - Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have Immortal longings in me: Now no more The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip: Yare, yare, good Iras; quick. Methinks, I hear Antony call; I see him rouse himself To praise my noble act; I hear him mock The luck of Caesar, which the gods give men To excuse their after wrath: Husband, I come: Now to that name my courage prove my title ! I am fire, and air; my other elements I give to baser life.
Page 129 - Come not to me again : but say to Athens, Timon hath made his everlasting mansion Upon the beached verge of the salt flood ; Whom once a day with his embossed froth The turbulent surge shall cover ; thither come, And let my grave-stone be your oracle.
Page 218 - No more, but e'en a woman, and commanded By such poor passion as the maid that milks And does the meanest chares. It were for me To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods ; To tell them that this world did equal theirs Till they had stol'n our jewel.
Page 37 - Who is Silvia ? what is she, That all our swains commend her ? Holy, fair, and wise is she ; The heaven such grace did lend her, That she might admired be. Is she kind, as she is fair, For beauty lives with kindness ? Love doth to her eyes repair, To help him of his blindness ; And, being help'd, inhabits there. Then to Silvia let us sing, That Silvia is excelling ; She excels each mortal thing, Upon the dull earth dwelling : To her let us garlands bring.
Page 160 - The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burn'd on the water : the poop was beaten gold ; Purple the sails, and so perfumed, that The winds were love-sick with them: the oars were silver; Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water, which they beat, to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes.
Page 222 - His legs bestrid the ocean : his rear'd arm Crested the world : his voice was propertied As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends ; But when he meant to quail and shake the orb, He was as rattling thunder. For his bounty, There was no winter...
Page 323 - O, how this spring of love resembleth The uncertain glory of an April day, Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, And by and by a cloud takes all away ! He-enter PANTHINO.
Page 218 - O, wither'd is the garland of the war, The soldier's pole is fall'n : young boys and girls Are level now with men ; the odds is gone, And there is nothing left remarkable Beneath the visiting moon.
Page 219 - s out ! Good sirs, take heart : We'll bury him ; and then, what's brave, what's noble, Let's do it after the high Roman fashion, And make death proud to take us.
Page 161 - Never ; he will not : Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety : other women cloy The appetites they feed ; but she makes hungry Where most she satisfies: for vilest things Become themselves in her ; that the holy priests Bless her when she is riggish.

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