The Works of William Shakespeare, Volume 5Chapman and Hall, 1866 |
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Page 3
... Talbots were perhaps all that he contributed to the First Part . Possibly he may have also written the interview between Talbot and the Countess of Auvergne . " He seems to have written more of The Second and Third Parts . " I believe ...
... Talbots were perhaps all that he contributed to the First Part . Possibly he may have also written the interview between Talbot and the Countess of Auvergne . " He seems to have written more of The Second and Third Parts . " I believe ...
Page 4
... TALBOT , afterwards earl of Shrewsbury . JOHN TALBOT , his son . EDMUND MORTIMER , earl of March . SIR JOHN FASTOLFE . SIR WILLIAM LUCY . SIR WILLIAM GLANSDALE . SIR THOMAS GARGRAVE . Mayor of London . WOODVILLE , lieutenant of the ...
... TALBOT , afterwards earl of Shrewsbury . JOHN TALBOT , his son . EDMUND MORTIMER , earl of March . SIR JOHN FASTOLFE . SIR WILLIAM LUCY . SIR WILLIAM GLANSDALE . SIR THOMAS GARGRAVE . Mayor of London . WOODVILLE , lieutenant of the ...
Page 8
... Talbot and the French . Win . What ! wherein Talbot overcame ? is't so ? Third Mess . O , no ; wherein Lord Talbot was o'erthrown : The circumstance I'll tell you more at large . The tenth of August last , this dreadful lord , Retiring ...
... Talbot and the French . Win . What ! wherein Talbot overcame ? is't so ? Third Mess . O , no ; wherein Lord Talbot was o'erthrown : The circumstance I'll tell you more at large . The tenth of August last , this dreadful lord , Retiring ...
Page 9
... Talbot with a spear into the back ; Whom all France , with their chief assembled strength , Durst not presume to look once in the face . Bed . Is Talbot slain ? then I will slay myself , For living idly here in pomp and ease , Whilst ...
... Talbot with a spear into the back ; Whom all France , with their chief assembled strength , Durst not presume to look once in the face . Bed . Is Talbot slain ? then I will slay myself , For living idly here in pomp and ease , Whilst ...
Page 10
... Talbot is taken , whom we wont to fear : Remaineth none but mad - brain'd Salisbury ; And he may well in fretting spend his gall , - Nor men nor money hath he to make war . Char . Sound , sound alarum ! we will rush on them . Now for ...
... Talbot is taken , whom we wont to fear : Remaineth none but mad - brain'd Salisbury ; And he may well in fretting spend his gall , - Nor men nor money hath he to make war . Char . Sound , sound alarum ! we will rush on them . Now for ...
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Common terms and phrases
Alarums Anne blood brother Buck Buckingham Cade Capell cardinal Catesby Clar Clarence Clif Clifford Collier's Corrector crown death doth Duch Duke of York Earl Edward Eliz England Exam Exeunt Exit eyes Fair lords farewell father fear fight folio.-The France friends Gent give Gloster grace gracious hand Hanmer hath hear heart heaven Henry's honour house of Lancaster house of York Jack Cade Kath King Henry lady live lord Lord Chamberlain Lord Hastings lord protector madam majesty Malone Margaret Murd ne'er night noble peace Plantagenet pray prince quartos queen Reignier Rich Richard RICHARD PLANTAGENET SCENE second folio Shakespeare soldiers Somerset soul sovereign speak speech Suffolk sweet sword Talbot tell thee thine thou art Tower traitor True Tragedie uncle unto W. N. Lettsom Walker Walker's Crit Warwick words
Popular passages
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;...