The Tragedy of King Richard the Third

Voorkant
Clarendon Press, 1880 - 236 pagina's

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Pagina 133 - tis true : 'tis true, 'tis pity ; And pity 'tis, 'tis true : a foolish figure ; But farewell it, for I will use no art. Mad let us grant him then : and now remains, That we find out the cause of this effect ; Or, rather say, the cause of this defect ; For this effect, defective, comes by cause : Thus it remains, and the remainder thus.
Pagina 203 - For mine own good, All causes shall give way : I am in blood Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er : Strange things I have in head, that will to hand ; Which must be acted ere they may be scann'd.
Pagina 216 - Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time ; But men may construe things after their fashion, Clean from the purpose of the things themselves.
Pagina 235 - They have tied me to a stake ; I cannot fly, But, bear-like, I must fight the course. — What's he, That was not born of woman ? Such a one Am I to fear, or none. Enter young SIWARD.
Pagina 213 - ... made ; Those are pearls that were his eyes : Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange.
Pagina 183 - ... wrist and held me hard ; Then goes he to the length of all his arm, And with his other hand thus o'er his brow, He falls to such perusal of my face As he would draw it.
Pagina 107 - Give me another horse, — bind up my wounds, — Have mercy, Jesu ! — Soft ; I did but dream. — 0 coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me ! — The lights burn blue. — It is now dead midnight. Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. What do I fear ? myself? there's none else by : Richard loves Richard ; that is, I am I.
Pagina 190 - The idea of her life shall sweetly creep Into his study of imagination...
Pagina 25 - All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea. Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept (As 'twere in scorn of eyes,) reflecting gems, That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.
Pagina 136 - Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee Calls back the lovely April of her prime ; So thou through windows of thine age shalt see, Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time.

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