The Works of William Shakespeare: Troilus and Cressida ; Coriolanus ; Titus Andronicus ; Romeo and Juliet ; Timon of Athens

Front Cover

From inside the book

What people are saying - Write a review

We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.

Other editions - View all

Common terms and phrases

Popular passages

Page 439 - Romeo; and, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine, That all the world will be in love with night, And pay no worship to the garish sun.
Page 31 - What plagues, and what portents ! what mutiny ! What raging of the sea ! shaking of earth ! Commotion in the winds ! frights, changes, horrors Divert and crack, rend and deracinate The unity and married calm of states Quite from their fixture...
Page 80 - O, let not virtue seek Remuneration for the thing it was: For beauty, wit, High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service, Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all To envious and calumniating time. One touch of nature makes the whole world kin...
Page 30 - The heavens themselves, the planets and this centre, Observe degree, priority and place, Insisture, course, proportion, season, form, Office and custom, in all line of order...
Page 560 - Will knit and break religions; bless the accurs'd; Make the hoar leprosy ador'd; place thieves, And give them title, knee, and approbation, With senators on the bench; this is it That makes the wappen'd widow wed again; She, whom the spital-house and ulcerous sores Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices To the April day again.
Page 81 - There is a mystery (with whom relation Durst never meddle) in the soul of state, Which hath an operation more divine, Than breath, or pen, can give expressure to.
Page 100 - Fie, fie upon her! There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip, Nay, her foot speaks ; her wanton spirits look out At every joint and motive of her body.
Page 413 - Tis almost morning ; I would have thee gone : And yet no farther than a wanton's bird, Who lets it hop a little from her hand, Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, And with a silk thread plucks it back again, So loving-jealous of his liberty.

Bibliographic information