The Pictorial Edition of the Works of Shakspere, Volume 3

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Page 74 - 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 105 - This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, Fear'd by their breed and famous by their birth, Renowned for their deeds as far from home, For Christian service and true chivalry, As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son ; This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, Dear for her reputation through the world...
Page 344 - Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage; Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; Let it pry through the portage of the head Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it As fearfully as doth a galled rock O'erhang and jutty his confounded base, Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Page 119 - Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood With solemn reverence : throw away respect, Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty, For you have but mistook me all this while: I live with bread like you, feel want, Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus, How can you say to me I am a king?
Page 365 - This story shall the good man teach his son; And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered...
Page 258 - Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast, Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains In cradle of the rude imperious surge. And in the visitation of the winds, Who take the ruffian billows by the top, Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them With deaf ning clamours in the slippery clouds, That, with the hurly, death itself awakes...
Page 139 - 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...

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