The Comedies, Histories, and Tragedies of Mr. William Shakespeare as Presented at the Globe and Blackfriars Theatres, Circa 1591-1623 (Volume 15); ... First Revised Folio Text, with Critical Int baixar o livro de graça

This historic book may have numerous typos, missing text, images, or index. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. 1891. Not illustrated. Excerpt: ... 318 Glo. Neuer came poison from so sweete a place. 319 La. Neuer hung poison on a fouler toade, 337 320 Out of my fight thou doest infect my eies. 3si Glo. Thine eies sweete Lady haue infected mine. 32a La. Would they were basiliskes to strike thee dead. 323 Glo. I would they were that I might die at once, 324 For now they kill me with a liuing death: 325 Those eies of thine from mine haue drawen salt teares, 326 Shamd their aspect with store of childish drops: 327 I neuer sued to friend nor enemy, 328 My tongue could neuer learne sweete soothing words: 329 But now thy beauty is proposde my fee: 330 My proud heart sues and prompts my tongue to speake, 331 Teach not thy lips such scorne, for they were made 332 For kissing Lady not for such contempt. 333 If thy reuengefull heart cannot forgiue, 364 334 Lo here I lend thee this sharpe pointed sword: 335 Which if thou please to hide in this true bosome, 336 And let the soule forth that adoreth thee: 337 I laie it naked to the deadly stroke, 338 And humbly beg the death vpon my knee. 339 Nay, doe not pawse, twas I that kild your husband, Rich. Neuer came poyson from so sweet a place. 335 An. Neuer hung poyson on a fowler Toade. 336 Out of my fight, thou dost infect mine eyes. 337 Rich. Thine eyes (sweet Lady) haue infected mine. 338 An. Would they were Basiliskes, to strike thee dead. 339 Rich. I would they were, that I might dye at once: 340 For now they kill me with a liuing death. 341 Those eyes of thine, from mine haue drawne salt Teares; 342 Sham'd their Aspects with store of childish drops: 343 These eyes, which neuer shed remorsefull teare, 344 No, when my Father Yorke, and Edward wept, 345 To heare the pittious moane that Rutland made 346 When black-fac'd Clifford shooke his sword at him. 347 Nor whe...