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action admiration affection ALDA appears bear Beatrice beauty better cause character circumstances CLEOPATRA considered Constance Cordelia daughter death Desdemona dignity distinction expression eyes fair fancy father fear feeling female feminine force gentle give grace grief hand hath heart heaven Hermione honor human husband imagination Imogen impression individual instance intellect interest Isabella Italy Juliet Katherine king Lady Macbeth leave less lived look lord madam manner mean MEDON mind moral mother nature never noble observes once Ophelia passion perfect person picture pity placed play poetical poetry poor Portia pride principle qualities queen scene seems sense sentiment Shakspeare Shakspeare's simplicity situation soul speak spirit stand story strong sweet tears temper tenderness thee things thou thought touch true truth turn virtue whole wife woman women young
Page 113 - The chariest maid is prodigal enough, If she unmask her beauty to the moon: Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes: The canker galls the infants of the spring, Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd; And in the morn and liquid dew of youth Contagious blastments are most imminent.
Page 326 - Like the poor cat i' the adage? Macb. Prithee, peace I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more is none. Lady M. What beast was't then That made you break this enterprise to me? When you durst do it, then you were a man; And, to be more than what you were, you would Be so much more the man.
Page 278 - Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form ; Then have I reason to be fond of grief.
Page 326 - 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 100 - Yet nature is made better by no mean, But nature makes that mean: so, o'er that art, Which you say adds to nature, is an art That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock, And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of nobler race: this is an art Which does mend nature, — change it rather; but The art itself is nature.
Page 74 - tis pretty to force together Thoughts so all unlike each other; To mutter and mock a broken charm, To dally with wrong that does no harm. Perhaps 'tis tender too and pretty At each wild word to feel within A sweet recoil of love and pity.
Page 98 - Even here undone ! I was not much afeard : for once, or twice, I was about to speak ; and tell him plainly, The selfsame sun, that shines upon his court, Hides not his visage from our cottage, but Looks on alike.— Will 't please you, sir, be gone?
Page xv - Yes, I am proud; I must be proud to see Men not afraid of God afraid of me: Safe from the Bar, the Pulpit, and the Throne, Yet touched and shamed by ridicule alone.