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 20
... food to my difpleafure : that young fart - ups hath the glory of my overthrow ; if I can crofs . him any way , I blefs myfelf every way ; you are both fure , and will affift me . -Cent . To the death , my Lord , John 20 MUCH ADO .
... food to my difpleafure : that young fart - ups hath the glory of my overthrow ; if I can crofs . him any way , I blefs myfelf every way ; you are both fure , and will affift me . -Cent . To the death , my Lord , John 20 MUCH ADO .
Página 24
... these circumftances , I am fure , the thought is mended ; as I think verily the text is too by the change of a fingle letter . Hero . Why , then your visor fhould be thatched 24 M. U CHA D. O Hero. I may fay fo, when I please...
... these circumftances , I am fure , the thought is mended ; as I think verily the text is too by the change of a fingle letter . Hero . Why , then your visor fhould be thatched 24 M. U CHA D. O Hero. I may fay fo, when I please...
Página 26
... fure you know him well enough . Bene . Not I , believe me . Beat . Did he never make you laugh ? Bene . I pray you , what is he ? Beat . Why , he is the Prince's jefter ; a very dull fool , only his gift is in devifing impoffible ...
... fure you know him well enough . Bene . Not I , believe me . Beat . Did he never make you laugh ? Bene . I pray you , what is he ? Beat . Why , he is the Prince's jefter ; a very dull fool , only his gift is in devifing impoffible ...
Página 32
... fure , my Lord , my mother cried ; but then there was a ftar danced , and under that I was born . Coufin , God give you joy . Leon . Niece , will you look to those things I told you of ? Beat . I cry you mercy , uncle : by your Grace's ...
... fure , my Lord , my mother cried ; but then there was a ftar danced , and under that I was born . Coufin , God give you joy . Leon . Niece , will you look to those things I told you of ? Beat . I cry you mercy , uncle : by your Grace's ...
Página 41
... fure , hide himself in fuch reverence . Claud . He hath ta'en th ' infection : hold it up . [ Afide . Pedro . Hath fhe made her affection known to Benedick ? Leon . No , and fwears she never will ; that's her torment .. Claud . ' Tis ...
... fure , hide himself in fuch reverence . Claud . He hath ta'en th ' infection : hold it up . [ Afide . Pedro . Hath fhe made her affection known to Benedick ? Leon . No , and fwears she never will ; that's her torment .. Claud . ' Tis ...
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.