The Works of William Shakespeare, Volume 5

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Chapman and Hall, 1866

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Page 541 - Farewell ! a long farewell to all my greatness ! • This is the state of man ; to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope;* to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him ; The third day comes a frost, a killing frost ; And, — when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a-ripening, — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do.
Page 544 - Love thyself last ; cherish those hearts that hate thee : Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not : Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's and truth's; then, if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr.
Page 541 - This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under me, and now has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream that must for ever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye: I feel my heart new open'd. O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes
Page 525 - em, if thou canst : leave working. SONG. Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain tops that freeze, Bow themselves when he did sing ; To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung, as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring. Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing die.
Page 582 - For I am a man under authority, having soldiers under me, and I say to this man, go, and he goeth ; and to another, come, and he cometh ; and to my servant do this, and he doeth it.
Page 549 - O father abbot, An old man, broken with the storms of state, Is come to lay his weary bones among ye ; Give him a little earth for charity...
Page 351 - He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I— that am not shap'd for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass— I— that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph— I— that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me...
Page 541 - This many summers in a sea of glory ; But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride At length broke under me ; and now has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye : I feel my heart new open'd. O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes...
Page 374 - I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood, With that grim ferryman which poets write of, Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger soul, Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick, Who cried aloud " What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence ?
Page 265 - God ! methinks , it were a happy life , To be no better than a homely swain ; To sit upon a hill , as I do now , To carve out dials quaintly , point by point , Thereby to see the minutes how they run : How many make the hour full complete , How many hours bring about the day , How many days will finish up the year , How many years a mortal man may live. When this is known , then to divide the times : So many hours must I tend my flock ; So many hours must I take my rest ; So many hours must I contemplate;...

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