The Works of Shakespeare in Twelve Volumes: Collated with the Oldest Copies and Corrected: with Notes Explanatory and Critical, Volumen3R. Crowder, 1772 |
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Página 12
... speak in fober judgment . Bene . Why , i'faith , methinks fhe is too low for an high praise , too brown for a fair praife , and too little for a great praife ; only this commenda- tion I can afford her , that were the other than fhe is ...
... speak in fober judgment . Bene . Why , i'faith , methinks fhe is too low for an high praise , too brown for a fair praife , and too little for a great praife ; only this commenda- tion I can afford her , that were the other than fhe is ...
Página 14
... speak this to fetch me in , my Lord . Pedro . By my troth , I fpeak my thought . Claud . And , in faith , my Lord , I spoke mine . Bene . And by my two faiths and troths , my Lord , Ifpeak mine . Claud . That I love her I feel . , Pedro ...
... speak this to fetch me in , my Lord . Pedro . By my troth , I fpeak my thought . Claud . And , in faith , my Lord , I spoke mine . Bene . And by my two faiths and troths , my Lord , Ifpeak mine . Claud . That I love her I feel . , Pedro ...
Página 25
... Speak low , if you fpeak love . Balth . Well , I would you did like me . ( 6 ) Marg . So would not I for your own fake , for I have many ill qualities . Balth . Which is one ? Marg . I fay my prayers aloud . Balth . I love you the ...
... Speak low , if you fpeak love . Balth . Well , I would you did like me . ( 6 ) Marg . So would not I for your own fake , for I have many ill qualities . Balth . Which is one ? Marg . I fay my prayers aloud . Balth . I love you the ...
Página 31
... Speak , Count , ' tis your cue .——— Claud . Silence is the perfecteft herald of joy ; I were but little happy , if I could fay how much . Lady , as you are mine , I am yours : I give away myfelf for you , and doat upon the exchange ...
... Speak , Count , ' tis your cue .——— Claud . Silence is the perfecteft herald of joy ; I were but little happy , if I could fay how much . Lady , as you are mine , I am yours : I give away myfelf for you , and doat upon the exchange ...
Página 32
... Speak , coufin , or ( if you cannot ) ftop his mouth with a kiss , and let him not speak neither . Pedro . In faith , Lady , you have a merry heart .. Beat . Yea , my Lord , I thank it , poor fool , it keeps on the windy fide of care ...
... Speak , coufin , or ( if you cannot ) ftop his mouth with a kiss , and let him not speak neither . Pedro . In faith , Lady , you have a merry heart .. Beat . Yea , my Lord , I thank it , poor fool , it keeps on the windy fide of care ...
Términos y frases comunes
Afide againſt Aglet anfwer Antigonus Aquitain Beat Beatrice becauſe Benedick Biron Bohemia Bora Borachio Boyet brother Camillo Claud Claudio Coft Coftard coufin daughter defire doft Dogb doth elfe Enter Exeunt Exit eyes faid fair Fair Ladies falfe father feems feen fenfe fhall fhame fhew fhould fince fing firſt fome fool foul fpeak Friar ftand fuch fure fwear fweet fworn gentleman grace hath hear heart Hermione Hero himſelf honeft honour Jaquenetta kifs King Lady lefs Leon Leonato Lord Madam mafter marry moft moſt Moth muft muſt myſelf Navarre never paffage Paul Paulina perfon pleaſe Polixenes Pompey praife praiſe pray prefent Prince Princefs Queen reafon Rofa ſhall ſhe Shep Sicilia Signior ſpeak ſtay tell thee thefe theſe thofe tongue troth whofe wife word yourſelf
Pasajes populares
Página 124 - Biron they call him ; but a merrier man, Within the limit of becoming mirth, I never spent an hour's talk withal. His eye begets occasion for his wit ; For every object that the one doth catch, The other turns to a mirth-moving jest...
Página 281 - For you there's rosemary and rue; these keep Seeming and savour all the winter long: Grace and remembrance be to you both, And welcome to our shearing!
Página 229 - Why, then the world, and all that's in't, is nothing; The covering sky is nothing ; Bohemia nothing; My wife is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings, If this be nothing.
Página 213 - While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-whit; Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.