The Works of W. Shakespeare, 2±Ç |
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134 ÆäÀÌÁö
Leon . Stay your thanks a while , And pay them when you part . Pol . Sir , that's to - morrow . I am question'd by my fears , of what may chance , Or breed upon our absence , that may blow No sneaping winds at home , to make us say ...
Leon . Stay your thanks a while , And pay them when you part . Pol . Sir , that's to - morrow . I am question'd by my fears , of what may chance , Or breed upon our absence , that may blow No sneaping winds at home , to make us say ...
135 ÆäÀÌÁö
Leon . Tongue - tied our queen ? speak you . Her . I had thought , Sir , to have held my peace until You had drawn oaths from him not to stay . You , Sir , Charge him too coldly . Tell him , you are sure All in Bohemia's well ...
Leon . Tongue - tied our queen ? speak you . Her . I had thought , Sir , to have held my peace until You had drawn oaths from him not to stay . You , Sir , Charge him too coldly . Tell him , you are sure All in Bohemia's well ...
136 ÆäÀÌÁö
Leon . Is he won yet ? Her . He'll stay , my lord . Leon . At my request he would not . Hermione , my dearest , thou never spok'st To better purpose . Her . Never ? Leon . Never , but once . Her . What ! have I twice said well ? when ...
Leon . Is he won yet ? Her . He'll stay , my lord . Leon . At my request he would not . Hermione , my dearest , thou never spok'st To better purpose . Her . Never ? Leon . Never , but once . Her . What ! have I twice said well ? when ...
137 ÆäÀÌÁö
Leon . Why , that was when Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to death , Ere I could make thee open thy white hand , And clap thyself my love : then didst thou utter , ¡° I am yours for ever . ¡± Her . It is Grace indeed.
Leon . Why , that was when Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to death , Ere I could make thee open thy white hand , And clap thyself my love : then didst thou utter , ¡° I am yours for ever . ¡± Her . It is Grace indeed.
138 ÆäÀÌÁö
Leon . No , in good earnest . — How sometimes nature will betray its folly , Its tenderness , and make itself a pastime To harder bosoms ! Looking on the lines Of my boy's face , methought I did recoil Twenty - three years , and saw ...
Leon . No , in good earnest . — How sometimes nature will betray its folly , Its tenderness , and make itself a pastime To harder bosoms ! Looking on the lines Of my boy's face , methought I did recoil Twenty - three years , and saw ...
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answer arms Attendants bear better blood bring brother comes Count cousin crown dead dear death dost doth duke England English Enter Exeunt Exit eyes face fair faith father fear fight follow fool fortune France French friends give gone grace hand hath head hear heart heaven Henry hold honour hope horse hour I'll John keep king lady land leave Leon live look lord Madam majesty marry master means never night noble once peace poor pray present prince queen Rich SCENE serve shame Sir John soldiers soul speak spirit stand stay sweet sword tell thee thine thing thou art thou hast thought thousand tongue true unto wife York young
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455 ÆäÀÌÁö - With deafning clamours in the slippery clouds, That, with the hurly," death itself awakes ? Can'st thou, O partial sleep ! give thy repose To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude ; And in the calmest and most stillest night, With all appliances and means to boot, Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down ! Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
509 ÆäÀÌÁö - Creatures that by a rule in nature teach The act of order to a peopled kingdom. They have a king and officers of sorts ; Where some, like magistrates, correct at home, Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad, Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds, Which pillage they with merry march bring home To the tent-royal of their emperor ; Who, busied in his majesty, surveys The singing masons building roofs of gold, The civil citizens kneading up the honey,...
172 ÆäÀÌÁö - When daffodils begin to peer, With heigh ! the doxy over the dale, Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year; For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale. The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, With heigh ! the sweet birds, O, how they sing! Doth set my pugging tooth on edge ; For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. The lark, that...
129 ÆäÀÌÁö - When that I was and a little tiny boy, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain; A foolish thing was but a toy, For the rain it raineth every day. But when I came to man's estate, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain; 'Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate, For the rain it raineth every day.