Hamlet, królewicz duński

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Druk. Uniw. Jagiellońskiego, 1894 - 345 pages
Shakespeare's tragedy in which a Danish prince seeks vengeance for his father's murder after being visited by his ghost.

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Page 86 - I'll leave you till night: you are welcome to Elsinore. Ros. Good my lord ! [Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Ham. Ay, so, God be wi' you : — Now I am alone. O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I ! Is it not monstrous, that this player here, But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, Could force his soul so to his own conceit...
Page 112 - And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear? Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice And could of men distinguish her election Hath seal'd thee for herself...
Page 90 - I have heard, That guilty creatures sitting at a play Have by the very cunning of the scene Been struck so to the soul that presently They have proclaim'd their malefactions; For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak With most miraculous organ.
Page 150 - Such an act, That blurs the grace and blush of modesty; Calls virtue, hypocrite; takes off the rose From the fair forehead of an innocent love, And sets a blister there; makes marriage vows As false as dicers...
Page 38 - Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws, To cast thee up again. What may this mean, That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel, Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, Making night hideous...
Page 142 - In the corrupted currents of this world Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice, And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself Buys out the law : but 'tis not so above ; ' There is no shuffling, there the action lies In his true nature, and we ourselves compell'd, Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, To give in evidence.
Page 14 - So excellent a king; that was, to this, Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother That he might not beteem the winds of heaven Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth! Must I remember? why, she would hang on him, As if increase of appetite had grown By what it fed on; and yet, within a month, Let me not think on't: Frailty, thy name is woman!
Page 150 - See, what a grace was seated on this brow; Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself; An eye like Mars, to threaten and command; A station like the herald Mercury, New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill; A combination, and a form, indeed, Where every god did seem to set his seal, To give the world assurance of a man : This was your husband.
Page 77 - O God, I could be bounded in a nut-shell, and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.
Page 68 - tis true: 'tis true, 'tis pity; And pity 'tis, 'tis true: a foolish figure ; But farewell it, for I will use no art. Mad let us grant him then : and now remains, That we find out the cause of this effect ; Or, rather say, the cause of this defect; For this effect, defective, comes by cause: Thus it remains, and the remainder thus.

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