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Apem arms attend bear better blood bring brother changes comes Coriolanus Corn daughter death deed doth Enter Exeunt Exit eyes father fear felf fhall fhould fight follow fome Fool fortune foul fpeak friends ftand fuch give Gods gone hand hath head hear heart hold honour I'll keep Kent King Lady Lear leave live look lord Lucius Macb Macbeth Mach mafter Marcius means moft mother muft muſt nature never night noble o'th peace Poet poor Power pray Roman Rome SCENE Senators ſhall ſpeak tears tell thank thee thefe there's theſe thine thing thou thou art thought Timon Titus tongue Tribunes true voices whofe wife worthy
Page 283 - I go, and it is done: the bell invites me. Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell That summons thee to heaven, or to hell.
Page 279 - Your face, my thane, is as a book, where men May read strange -matters: — to beguile the time, Look like the time ; bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue : look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under it...
Page 280 - I have given suck, and know How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me: I would, while it was smiling in my face, Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums, And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as you Have done to this.
Page 277 - Than wishest should be undone. Hie thee hither, That I may pour my spirits in thine ear; And chastise with the valour of my tongue All that impedes thee from the golden round, Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem To have thee crown'd withal.
Page 459 - If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there, That, like an eagle in a dovecote, I Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli : Alone I did it. — Boy ! Auf.
Page 55 - Gallow the very wanderers of the dark, And make them keep their caves: since I was man, Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder, Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never Remember to have heard : man's nature cannot carry The affliction nor the fear.
Page 282 - Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee: — I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not , fatal vision , sensible To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
Page 331 - I have liv'd long enough : my way of life Is fall'n into the sear , the yellow leaf; And that which should accompany old age , As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, I must not look to have...
Page 289 - Had I but died an hour before this chance, I had liv'da blessed time; for, from this instant, There's nothing serious in mortality : All is but toys : renown, and grace, is dead ; The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of.
Page 285 - Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead Are but as pictures: 'tis the eye of childhood That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal, For it must seem their guilt.