The Ghost of Richard the Third: A PoemShakespeare society, 1844 - 79 pagina's |
Overige edities - Alles bekijken
The Ghost of Richard the Third: A Poem Printed in 1614 and Founded Upon ... Christopher Brooke Volledige weergave - 1844 |
The Ghost of Richard the Third: A Poem, Printed in 1614, and ..., Volume 10 Christopher Brooke Volledige weergave - 1844 |
The Ghost Richard the Third: A Poem, Printed in 1614, and Founded Upon ... J. Payne Collier Geen voorbeeld beschikbaar - 2015 |
Veelvoorkomende woorden en zinsdelen
actions dignifi'd ayme ayre Ben Jonson blood BODLEIAN LIBRARY breath Brooke Buckingham chronicles Clio's quill conscience corruption crowne damn'd darknes death deeds dignifi'd his pen doth drama dramatist EARL EARL OF POWIS edit Edward enforme this ignorant extend on stage eyes fame with Clio's fate fearefull Ghost of Richard H. R. H. PRINCE ALBERT hart heaven hell Henry VI hope horror impt my fame Jane Shore Jonson kings LELAND STANFORD LORD LORD FRANCIS EGERTON Mirror for Magistrates misprint Niccols obsequious old copy Pericles poem pollitick powre pride printed PRINTER TO H. R. H. Richard Crook-back Richard III Richard the Third Richmond's ROBERT DABORNE RUPERT STREET selfe sence SHAKESPEARE SOCIETY Shakespeare's Richard shame shew my horrid sinne soule soundlesse braine spirit spleene stile with fame sunne sweet thou thought torment Tragedy turn'd unto veines are drunke vertue Whittaker wits writer
Populaire passages
Pagina xvi - To him that impt my fame with Clio's quill, Whose magick rais'd me from oblivion's den, That writ my storie on the Muses' hill, And with my actions dignifi'd his pen ; He that from Helicon sends many a rill, Whose nectared veines are drunke by thirstie men ; Crown'd be his stile with fame, his head with bayes, And none detract, but gratulate his praise.
Pagina 10 - And what a peece of justice did I shew On mistresse Shore, when (with a fained hate To unchast life) I forced her to goe Barefoote on pennance, with dejected state.
Pagina xvi - For me to fill, t' enforme this ignorant age, To that intent I shew my horrid face, Imprest with feare, and characters of rage : Nor wits, nor chronicles, could ere containe The hell-deepe reaches of my soundlesse braine.