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againſt anſwer Antipholis aſs beſeech Beſides beſt blood buſineſs Camillo cauſe Count doth Dromio Duke elſe Enter Exeunt Exit eyes falſe father Faulconbridge firſt fool France hath heart heav'n himſelf honeſt honour houſe Illyria King knave Lady laſt Lord loſe loſt Madam Majeſty Malvolio maſter miſtreſs moſt muſt myſelf Paſſage paſt pleaſe pray preſent priſon purpoſe queſtion reaſon reſt S C E N E S C E N E changes ſaid ſame ſave ſaw ſay ſee ſeek ſeems ſelf ſend ſent ſerve ſervice ſet ſhall ſhame ſhe ſhew ſhould ſince Sir Toby ſome ſomething ſon ſoul ſpeak ſpirit ſtand ſtay ſtill ſtrong ſuch ſure ſwear ſweet tell thee there's theſe thine thoſe thou art thou haſt thou ſhalt thouſand thyſelf truſt uſe whoſe wife yourſelf
Página 250 - Skulking in corners ? wishing clocks more swift ? Hours, minutes ? noon, midnight ? and all eyes blind With the pin and web,' but theirs, theirs only, That would unseen be wicked ? is this nothing ? Why, then the world, and all that's in't, is nothing; The covering sky is nothing ; Bohemia nothing; My wife is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings, If this be nothing.
Página 382 - 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 ? Fare you well: had you such a loss as I, I could give better comfort than you do.
Página 135 - element,' but the word is over-worn. \Exit. Vio. This fellow is wise enough to play the fool ; And to do that well craves a kind of wit : He must observe their mood on whom he jests, The quality of persons, and the time, And, like the haggard, check at every feather That comes before his eye.
Página 417 - This England never did, (nor never shall,) Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, But when it first did help to wound itself. Now these her princes are come home again, Come the three corners of the world in arms, And we shall shock them : Nought shall make us rue, If England to itself do rest but true.
Página 99 - If music be the food of love, play on ; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again ! it had a dying fall : O ! it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour.