What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
Other editions - View all
answer bear Beatrice Benedick better bring brother Clau Claudio Clown comes count cousin daughter dear death desire doth Duke Enter excellent Exeunt Exit eyes fair faith father fellow fool forest fortune gentle give grace hand hang hast hath hear heart Hero hold honor hour Jaques John keep kind lady leave Leonato live look lord madam Malvolio marry master mean mistress nature never niece night Olivia Orlando peace play poor pray prince reason Rosalind SCENE signior sing sir Toby soul speak sure sweet tell thank thee there's thing thou art thought to-morrow tongue Touch true truly turn Viola Watch wear wise woman write young youth
Page 277 - twill be eleven; And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot, And thereby hangs a tale.
Page 266 - Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty ; For in my youth I never did apply Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood; Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo The means of weakness and debility ; Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, Frosty, but kindly.
Page 288 - Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get that I wear; owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness; glad of other men's good, content with my harm; and the greatest of my pride is to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck.
Page 283 - Then, heigh, ho, the holly ! This life is most jolly. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, That dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot : Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp As friend remember'd not Heigh, ho ! sing, heigh, ho ! &c.
Page 156 - Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever ; One foot in sea, and one on shore ; To one thing constant never : Then sigh not so, But let them go. And be you blithe and bonny ; ' Converting all your sounds of woe Into Hey nonny, nonny.
Page 47 - Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid ; Fly away, fly away, breath ; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O ! prepare it ; My part of death no one so true Did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweet, • On my black coffin let there be strown ; Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown : A thousand thousand sighs to save, Lay me, O ! where Sad true lover never find my grave, To weep there.