The Stoddard Library: Shakespeare-TaineG.L. Shuman & Company, 1910 |
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6 ÆäÀÌÁö
... hear me , Or at their chamber - door I'll beat the drum Till it cry sleep to death . Glou . I would have all well betwixt you . [ Exit . Lear . O me , my heart , my rising heart ! But down ! Fool . Cry to it , nuncle , as the cockney ...
... hear me , Or at their chamber - door I'll beat the drum Till it cry sleep to death . Glou . I would have all well betwixt you . [ Exit . Lear . O me , my heart , my rising heart ! But down ! Fool . Cry to it , nuncle , as the cockney ...
10 ÆäÀÌÁö
... I'll go with thee : Thy fifty yet doth double five and twenty , And thou art twice her love . Gon . Hear me , my lord : What need you five and twenty , ten , or five , To follow in a house where twice so many Have ¥É¥Ï SHAKESPEARE.
... I'll go with thee : Thy fifty yet doth double five and twenty , And thou art twice her love . Gon . Hear me , my lord : What need you five and twenty , ten , or five , To follow in a house where twice so many Have ¥É¥Ï SHAKESPEARE.
31 ÆäÀÌÁö
... hear the sea ? Glou . Horrible steep . No , truly . Edg . Why then your other senses grow imperfect By your eyes ' anguish . Glou . So may it be indeed : Methinks thy voice is alter'd , and thou speak'st In better phrase and matter than ...
... hear the sea ? Glou . Horrible steep . No , truly . Edg . Why then your other senses grow imperfect By your eyes ' anguish . Glou . So may it be indeed : Methinks thy voice is alter'd , and thou speak'st In better phrase and matter than ...
32 ÆäÀÌÁö
... Hear you , sir ! speak ! Thus might he pass indeed : yet he revives . What are you , sir ? Glou . Away , and let me die . Edg . Hadst thou been aught but gossamer , feathers , air , So many fathom down precipitating , Thou'dst shiver'd ...
... Hear you , sir ! speak ! Thus might he pass indeed : yet he revives . What are you , sir ? Glou . Away , and let me die . Edg . Hadst thou been aught but gossamer , feathers , air , So many fathom down precipitating , Thou'dst shiver'd ...
34 ÆäÀÌÁö
... hear of pleasure's name ; The fitchew , nor the soiled horse , goes to't With a more riotous appetite . Down from the waist they are Centaurs , Though women all above : But to the girdle do the gods inherit , Beneath is all the fiends ...
... hear of pleasure's name ; The fitchew , nor the soiled horse , goes to't With a more riotous appetite . Down from the waist they are Centaurs , Though women all above : But to the girdle do the gods inherit , Beneath is all the fiends ...
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Acres beauty blood body breath Brutus C©¡sar called Chas child Creon dead dear death Dendermond doth earth eccho ring Edipus Enter Exeunt eyes face father Faulkland fear feel fire follow Fool Galba gentleman give Glou hand hath head hear heard heart heaven honor Inchcape Rock Italy Kent king kiss Lady Teaz Laius Lear leave light live look lord Lygia Mas'r master mind Miss Ophelia nature Nelson never night Ophelia Otho poor pray Rome Rosalind round seemed servant sing Sir Luc Sir Lucius Sir Pet Sir Peter sleep soldier soul speak spirit stood sure Surf sweet sword Tabary Teazle tell thee thine things thou art thought Tiberius Tiresias uncle Toby victory Villon Vitellius wind words Zounds
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119 ÆäÀÌÁö - I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.
109 ÆäÀÌÁö - The breath whose might I have invoked in song Descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven, Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng Whose sails were never to the tempest given; The massy earth and sphered skies are riven!
62 ÆäÀÌÁö - It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale ; look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east. Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops; I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
118 ÆäÀÌÁö - Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is: What if my leaves are falling like its own! The tumult of thy mighty harmonies Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, spirit fierce, My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!
133 ÆäÀÌÁö - I met a traveller from an antique land Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed: And on the pedestal these words appear: 'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!
121 ÆäÀÌÁö - The stars peep behind her and peer; And I laugh to see them whirl and flee, Like a swarm of golden bees, When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas, Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, Are each paved with the moon and these.
126 ÆäÀÌÁö - I sighed for thee; When light rode high, and the dew was gone. And noon lay heavy on flower and tree, And the weary Day turned to his rest, Lingering like an unloved guest, I sighed for thee. Thy brother Death came, and cried, Wouldst thou me? Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed, Murmured like a noontide bee, Shall I nestle near thy side? Wouldst thou me? — And I replied, No, not thee!
56 ÆäÀÌÁö - O, speak again, bright angel ! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head, As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him, When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds And sails upon the bosom of the air.
11 ÆäÀÌÁö - Stain my man's cheeks ! No, you unnatural hags, I will have such revenges on you both That all the world shall — I will do such things, — What they are, yet I know not, but they shall be The terrors of the earth.
125 ÆäÀÌÁö - Yet if we could scorn Hate and pride and fear; If we were things born Not to shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever should come near.