The Historical Shakespearian Reader: Comprising the "Histories," Or, "Chronicle Plays" of Shakespeare ... Expurgated and Revised, with ... Notes by John W. S. Hows
Appleton, 1863 - 503 pages
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answer arms Attendants bear better blood Boling brother Buck cardinal cause Clarence comes cousin crown dead death doth duke earl Edward England English Enter Exeunt Exit eyes face fair faith father fear field fight follow forces France French friends gentle give Gloster grace hand Harry hath head hear heart heaven highness hold honor hope horse I'll John keep king KING HENRY lady land leave live look lord madam majesty master means never night noble North once peace poor pray prince queen rest Rich Richard royal SCENE Sir John soldiers soul speak stand stay sweet sword tell thank thee thine thing thou thou art thou hast thought thousand tongue true uncle unto Warwick York young
Page 489 - Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under me, and now has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream that must for ever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye: I feel my heart new open'd. O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes
Page 375 - To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery ? O, yes it doth ; a thousand fold it doth. And to conclude, — the shepherd's homely curds, His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle, His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, Is far beyond a prince's delicates, His viands sparkling in a golden cup, His body couched in a curious bed, When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him.
Page 216 - Creatures that, by a rule in nature, teach The act of order to a peopled kingdom. They have a king and officers of sorts : Where some, like magistrates, correct at home ; Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad ; Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds ; Which pillage they...
Page 179 - How many thousand of my poorest subjects Are at this hour asleep ! — O sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down...
Page 160 - For worms, brave Percy. Fare thee well, great heart ! — Ill-weav'd ambition, how much art thou shrunk ! When that this body did contain a spirit, A kingdom for it was too small a bound; But now, two paces of the vilest earth Is room enough.
Page 180 - With deaf ning clamours in the slippery clouds, That, with the hurly, death itself awakes ? — Canst thou, O partial Sleep, give thy repose To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude ; And, in the calmest and most stillest night, With all appliances and means to boot, Deny it to a king?
Page 53 - This England never did, (nor never shall,) Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, But when it first did help to wound itself. Now these her princes are come home again, Come the three corners of the world in arms, And we shall shock them : Nought shall make us rue, If England to itself do rest but true.
Page 180 - With deafning clamours in the slippery clouds, That, with the hurly," death itself awakes ? Can'st thou, O partial sleep ! give thy repose To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude ; And in the calmest and most stillest night, With all appliances and means to boot, Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down ! Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
Page 375 - To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run : How many make the hour full complete, How many hours bring about the day, How many days will finish up the year, How many years a mortal man may live. When this is known, then to divide the times : So many hours must I tend my flock ; So many hours must I take my rest ; So many hours must I contemplate ; So many hours must I sport myself; So many days my ewes have been with young...
Page 97 - Richard ; no man cried, God save him ; No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home : But dust was thrown upon his sacred head ; Which, with such gentle sorrow he shook off, His face still combating with tears and smiles, The badges of his grief and patience, That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, And barbarism itself have pitied him.