Works: Tempest. Two gentlemen of Verona. Merry wives of Windsor. Measure for measure. Comedy of errors. Much ado about nothing. Love's labour's lost. A midsummer-night's dream. The merchant of Venice. As you like it. Taming of the shrew. All's well that ends well. Twelfth night, or What you will. Winter's tale. King JohnG. Routledge, 1889 |
From inside the book
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Page 2
... Exit . Gon . I have great comfort from this fellow methinks he hath no drowning mark upon him ; his complexion is ... Exit . Seb . Let's take leave of him . [ Exit . Gon . Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ...
... Exit . Gon . I have great comfort from this fellow methinks he hath no drowning mark upon him ; his complexion is ... Exit . Seb . Let's take leave of him . [ Exit . Gon . Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ...
Page 10
... Exit ARIEL . What ho slave ! Caliban ! There's wood enough within . Pro . Come forth , I say ; there's other business for thee : Come , thou tortoise ! when ! Fine apparition ! My quaint Ariel , Re - enter ARIEL , like a water - nymph ...
... Exit ARIEL . What ho slave ! Caliban ! There's wood enough within . Pro . Come forth , I say ; there's other business for thee : Come , thou tortoise ! when ! Fine apparition ! My quaint Ariel , Re - enter ARIEL , like a water - nymph ...
Page 33
... Exit PROSPERO from above . Gon . I ' the name of something holy , sir , why stand you In this strange stare ? Alon . O , it is monstrous ! monstrous ! Methought the billows spoke , and told me of it ; The winds did sing it to me ; and ...
... Exit PROSPERO from above . Gon . I ' the name of something holy , sir , why stand you In this strange stare ? Alon . O , it is monstrous ! monstrous ! Methought the billows spoke , and told me of it ; The winds did sing it to me ; and ...
Page 34
... vetches , oats , and pease ; Thy turfy mountains , where live nibbling sheep , And flat meads thatch'd with stover , them to keep ; [ Exit . [ Soft music . Thy banks with pioned and twilled brims , Which spongy 34 [ ACT IV . TEMPEST .
... vetches , oats , and pease ; Thy turfy mountains , where live nibbling sheep , And flat meads thatch'd with stover , them to keep ; [ Exit . [ Soft music . Thy banks with pioned and twilled brims , Which spongy 34 [ ACT IV . TEMPEST .
Page 40
... Exit . Pro . Ye elves of hills , brooks , standing lakes , and groves ; And ye that on the sands with printless foot Do chase the ebbing Neptune , and do fly him , When he comes back ; you demi - puppets that By moonshine do the green ...
... Exit . Pro . Ye elves of hills , brooks , standing lakes , and groves ; And ye that on the sands with printless foot Do chase the ebbing Neptune , and do fly him , When he comes back ; you demi - puppets that By moonshine do the green ...
Common terms and phrases
Angelo art thou Bast Beat Benedick better Biron blood Boyet brother Caius Claud Claudio COSTARD daughter dear death dost thou doth ducats Duke Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair faith father Faulconbridge fear fool Ford gentle gentleman give grace Gremio hand hath hear heart heaven Hermia hither honour husband Illyria Isab John Kath King knave lady Laun Leon Leonato look lord Lucio Lysander madam maid Malvolio marry master master doctor mistress Moth never night pardon Pedro Pompey pray prince prithee Proteus Puck Re-enter Rosalind SCENE servant Shylock signior Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK soul speak Speed swear sweet tell thank thee there's Theseus thine thou art thou hast thou shalt Thurio tongue Tranio troth true unto villain What's wife woman word
Popular passages
Page 793 - O, let us pay the time but needful woe, Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs. — This England never did, (nor never shall,) Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, But when it first did help to wound itself. Now these her princes are come home again, Come the three corners of the world in arms, And we shall shock them : Nought shall make us rue, If England to itself do rest but true.
Page 464 - Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp ? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court ? Here feel we not the penalty of Adam. 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.