Romeo & Juliet

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Nassau Press, 1895 - 78 páginas
 

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Página 19 - Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat, Not half so big as a round little worm Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid : Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut, Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub, Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers. And in this state she gallops night by night Through lovers...
Página 33 - For nought so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give, Nor aught so good but strain'd from that fair use Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse: Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied; And vice sometimes by action dignified.
Página 68 - Farewell! God knows when we shall meet again. I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins, That almost freezes up the heat of life: I'll call them back again to comfort me. Nurse! — What should she do here? My dismal scene I needs must act alone.
Página 26 - Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid art far more fair than she...
Página 47 - Phoebus' lodging : such a waggoner As Phaethon would whip you to the west, And bring in cloudy night immediately. Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night, That runaways' eyes may wink, and Romeo Leap to these arms, untalk'd of and unseen. \ Lovers can see to do their amorous rites By their own beauties ; or, if love be blind, It best agrees with night. Come, civil night...
Página 23 - Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this ; For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers
Página 21 - O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright ! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an .dîthiop's ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
Página 30 - My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite.
Página 70 - If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep My dreams presage some joyful news at hand. My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne, And all this day an unaccustom'd spirit Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.
Página 76 - O my love ! my wife ! Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty : Thou art not conquer'd ; beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there.

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