Antony and Cleopatra. Troilus and Cressida (Google eBook)

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Ginn, Heath, & Company, 1881
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Page 220 - Force should be right ; or rather, right and wrong, Between whose endless jar justice resides, Should lose their names, and so should justice too. Then...
Page 46 - The winds were love-sick with them; the oars were silver, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water which "they beat to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes. For her own person, It...
Page 218 - What plagues, and what portents ! what mutiny ! What raging of the sea ! shaking of earth ! Commotion in the winds ! frights, changes, horrors Divert and crack, rend and deracinate...
Page 45 - The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burn'd on the water. The poop was beaten gold; Purple the sails, and so perfumed that The winds were love-sick with them. The oars were silver, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water which they beat to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes.
Page 158 - With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate Of life at once untie : poor venomous fool, Be angry, and dispatch. O, couldst thou speak, That I might hear thee call great Caesar ass Unpolicied ! Char. O eastern star ! Cleo. Peace, peace ! Dost thou not see my baby at my breast, That sucks the nurse asleep ? Char.
Page 157 - Give me my robe, put on my crown ; I have Immortal longings in me : now no more The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip : Yare, yare, good Iras ; quick. Methinks I hear Antony call ; I see him rouse himself To praise my noble act ; I hear him mock The luck of Cassar, which the gods give men To excuse their after wrath.
Page 162 - Take up her bed, And bear her women from the monument: She shall be buried by her Antony: No grave upon the earth shall clip in it A pair so famous. High events as these Strike those that make them; and their story is No less in pity than his glory which Brought them to be lamented.
Page 48 - Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety. Other women cloy The appetites they feed ; but she makes hungry, Where most she satisfies : for vilest things Become themselves in her ; that the holy priests Bless her when she is riggish.
Page 219 - In mere oppugnancy: the bounded waters Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores And make a sop of all this solid globe: Strength should be lord of imbecility, And the rude son should strike his father dead: Force should be right; or rather, right and wrong, Between whose endless jar justice resides, Should lose their names, and so should justice too.
Page 274 - O'errun and trampled on: then what they do in present Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours...

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