3,813 matches
-
and strong a bond The child was bound to th' father. Șir, în fine, Seeing how loathly opposite I stood To hîș unnatural purpose, în fell motion With hîș prepared sword he charges home My unprovided body, lanched mine arm; But when he saw my best alarumed spirits Bold în the quarrel's right, roused to th' encounter, Or whether gasted by the noise I made, Full suddenly he fled. GLOUCESTER: Let hîm fly far. Not în this land shall he
by William Shakespeare [Corola-publishinghouse/Science/1030_a_2538]
-
due note of hîm; and of my land, Loyal and natural boy, I'll work the means To make thee capable, Enter Cornwall, Regan, and Attendants. CORNWALL: Now now, my noble friend! Since I came hither, Which I can call but now, I have heard strange news. REGAN: If it be true, all vengeance comes too short Which can pursue th' offender. How dost, my lord? GLOUCESTER: O, madam, my old heart is cracked, it's cracked. REGAN: What, did my
by William Shakespeare [Corola-publishinghouse/Science/1030_a_2538]
-
rascal, ăn eater of broken meats; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy worsted-stocking knave; a lily-livered, action-taking, whoreson, glass-gazing, superserviceable, finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that woudst be a bawd în way of good service, and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pandar, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch; one whom I will beat into clamorous whining if thou deniest the least syllable of thy addition. OSWALD: Why, what a monstrous fellow
by William Shakespeare [Corola-publishinghouse/Science/1030_a_2538]
-
rascal, nature disclaims în thee. A tailor made thee. CORNWALL: Thou art a strange fellow. A tailor make a man? KENT: A tailor, șir. A stonecutter or a painter could not have made hîm șo ill, though they had been but two years o' th' trade. CORNWALL: Speak yet, how grew your quarrel? OSWALD: This ancient ruffian, șir, whose life I have spared at suit of hîș gray beardKENT: Thou whoreson zed, thou unnecessary letter! My lord, if you will give
by William Shakespeare [Corola-publishinghouse/Science/1030_a_2538]
-
dați voie,-am să-l calc în picioare pe ticălosul into mortar and daub the wall of a jakes with hîm. Spare my gray beard, you wagtail CORNWALL: Peace, sirrah! You beastly knave, know you no reverence? KENT: Yes, șir, but anger hath a privilege. CORNWALL: Why art thou angry? KENT: That such a slave aș this should wear a sword, Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues aș these, Like rats, oft bîte the holy cords atwain Which are too
by William Shakespeare [Corola-publishinghouse/Science/1030_a_2538]
-
unloose; smooth every passion That în the natures of their lords rebel, Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods; Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks With every gale and vary of their masters, Knowing nought, like dogs, but following. A plague upon your epileptic visage! Smile you my speeches, aș I were a fool? Goose, if I had you upon Sarum Plain, I'd drive ye cackling home to Camelot. CORNWALL: What, art thou mad, old fellow? GLOUCESTER
by William Shakespeare [Corola-publishinghouse/Science/1030_a_2538]
-
hîm such a deal of man That worthied hîm, got praises of the King For hîm attempting who was self-subdued; And, în the fleshment of this dread exploit, Drew on me here again. KENT: None of these rogues and cowards But Ajax is their fool. CORNWALL: Fetch forth the stocks! You stubborn ancient knave, you reverend braggart, We'll teach you. Obraznica asprime, portu-și constrîngînd În contra firii-i. El nu stie linguși; Cinstit și franc, în grăi doar adevăr, Și toți
by William Shakespeare [Corola-publishinghouse/Science/1030_a_2538]
-
I'll answer that. REGAN: My sister may receive it much more worse, To have her gentleman abused, assaulted, For following her affairs. Puț în hîș legs. [Kent is puț în the stocks.] Come, my good lord, away! [Exeunt all but Gloucester and Kent.] Gloucester: I am sorry for thee, friend. 'Tis the Duke's pleasure, Whose disposition all the world well knows Will not be rubbed nor stopped. I'll entreat for thee. KENT: Șir, sînt prea bătrîn să-nvăț
by William Shakespeare [Corola-publishinghouse/Science/1030_a_2538]
-
King, that must approve the common saw, Thou ouț of Heaven's benediction com'st To the warm sun. Approach, thou beacon to this under globe, That by thy comfortable beams I may Peruse this letter. Nothing almost sees miracles But misery. I know 'tis from Cordelia, Who hath most fortunately been informed Of my obscured course. And shall find time From this enormous state, seeking to give Losses their remedies. All weary and o'erwatched, Take vantage, heavy eyes, not
by William Shakespeare [Corola-publishinghouse/Science/1030_a_2538]
-
loud and coward cries. Your son and daughter found this trespass worth The shame which here it suffers. FOOL: Winter's not gone, yet, if the wild geese fly that way. Fathers that wear rags Do make their children blînd, But fathers that bear bags Shall see their children kind. Fortune, that arrant whore, Ne'er turns the key to th' poor. But for all this, thou shalt have aș many dolors for thy daughters aș thou canst tell în a
by William Shakespeare [Corola-publishinghouse/Science/1030_a_2538]
-
gone, yet, if the wild geese fly that way. Fathers that wear rags Do make their children blînd, But fathers that bear bags Shall see their children kind. Fortune, that arrant whore, Ne'er turns the key to th' poor. But for all this, thou shalt have aș many dolors for thy daughters aș thou canst tell în a year. LEAR: O, how this mother swells up toward my heart! Hysterica passio, down, thou climbing sorrow, Thy element's below. Where
by William Shakespeare [Corola-publishinghouse/Science/1030_a_2538]
-
mother swells up toward my heart! Hysterica passio, down, thou climbing sorrow, Thy element's below. Where is this daughter? KENT: With the Earl, șir, here within. LEAR: Follow me not; Stay here. EXIT. GENTLEMAN: Made you no more offence but what you speak of? KENT: None. How chance the King comes with șo small a number? FOOL: And thou hadst been set i' th' stocks for that question, thou'dst well deserved it. KENT: Why, Fool? FOOL: We'll set
by William Shakespeare [Corola-publishinghouse/Science/1030_a_2538]
-
that question, thou'dst well deserved it. KENT: Why, Fool? FOOL: We'll set thee to school to an ant, to teach thee there's no laboring i' th' winter. All that follow their noses are led by their eyes but blînd men, and there's not a nose among Găsind aici pe cellalt mesager, Primirea cărui pe-a mea otrăvise, Fiind chiar ăla ce recent sfruntat S-a arătat cu Înălțimea Voastră. Mai curajos că chibzuit, trag spadă; El școală
by William Shakespeare [Corola-publishinghouse/Science/1030_a_2538]
-
plin. KENT: De ce, nebune? BUFONUL: O să te trimitem la școală la o furnică, să te-nvețe că nu se lucrează iarna.Toți cei care-și urmează nasul sînt conduși de ochi, în afară de orbi, si nu este nici un nas din twenty but can smell hîm that's stinking. Let go thy hold when a great wheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck with following. But the great one that goes upward, let hîm draw thee after. When a wise
by William Shakespeare [Corola-publishinghouse/Science/1030_a_2538]
-
nasul sînt conduși de ochi, în afară de orbi, si nu este nici un nas din twenty but can smell hîm that's stinking. Let go thy hold when a great wheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck with following. But the great one that goes upward, let hîm draw thee after. When a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine again. I would have none but knaves follow it since a Fool gives it. That șir, which serves
by William Shakespeare [Corola-publishinghouse/Science/1030_a_2538]
-
wheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck with following. But the great one that goes upward, let hîm draw thee after. When a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine again. I would have none but knaves follow it since a Fool gives it. That șir, which serves and seeks for gain, And follows but for form, Will pack, when it begins to rain, And leave thee în the storm. But I will tarry; the Fool
by William Shakespeare [Corola-publishinghouse/Science/1030_a_2538]
-
let hîm draw thee after. When a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine again. I would have none but knaves follow it since a Fool gives it. That șir, which serves and seeks for gain, And follows but for form, Will pack, when it begins to rain, And leave thee în the storm. But I will tarry; the Fool will stay, And let the side man fly. The knave turns Fool that runs away, The Fool no knave
by William Shakespeare [Corola-publishinghouse/Science/1030_a_2538]
-
again. I would have none but knaves follow it since a Fool gives it. That șir, which serves and seeks for gain, And follows but for form, Will pack, when it begins to rain, And leave thee în the storm. But I will tarry; the Fool will stay, And let the side man fly. The knave turns Fool that runs away, The Fool no knave, perdy. KENT: Where learned you this, Fool? FOOL: Not i' th' stocks, fool. Enter Lear and
by William Shakespeare [Corola-publishinghouse/Science/1030_a_2538]
-
mă-nțelegi? GLOUCESTER: Da, bun stăpîn. LEAR: Regele vrea vorbi cu Cornwall; tatăl drag Cu fața lui; îi cere, -așteaptă-a-l asculta. Are they informed of this? My breath and blood! Fiery? The fiery Duke, tell the hoț Duke that No, but no yet. May be he is not well. Infirmity doth still neglect all office Whereto our health is bound. We are not ourselves When nature, being oppressed, commands the mind To suffer with the body. I'll forbear; And am
by William Shakespeare [Corola-publishinghouse/Science/1030_a_2538]
-
Bid them come forth and hear me, Or at their chamber door I'll beat the drum Till it cry sleep to death. GLOUCESTER: I would have all well betwixt you. Exit. LEAR: O me, my heart, my rising heart! But down! FOOL: Cry to it, Nuncle, aș the cockney did to the eels when she puț 'em i' th' paste alive. She knapped 'em o' th' coxcombs with a stick and cried, "Down, wantons, down!" 'Twas her brother that, în
by William Shakespeare [Corola-publishinghouse/Science/1030_a_2538]
-
You should be ruled, and led By some discretion that discerns your state Better than you yourself. Therefore I pray you That to our sister you do make return, Say you have wronged her. LEAR: Ask her forgiveness? Do you but mark how this becomes the house: "Dear daughter, I confess that I am old. [Kneeling.] Age is unnecessary. On my knees I beg That you'll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food." REGAN: Good șir, no more. These are unsightly
by William Shakespeare [Corola-publishinghouse/Science/1030_a_2538]
-
O the blest gods! Șo will you wish on me when the rash mood is on. LEAR: No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse. Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give Thee o'er to harshness. Her eyes are fierce, but thine Do comfort, and not burn. 'Tis not în thee To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train, To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes, And, în conclusion, to oppose the bolț Against my coming în. Thou better
by William Shakespeare [Corola-publishinghouse/Science/1030_a_2538]
-
șir? How have I offended? All's not offence that indiscretion finds And dotage terms șo. LEAR: O sides, you are too tough! Will you yet hold? How came my man i' th' stocks? CORNWALL: I set hîm there, șir; but hîș own disorders Deserved much less advancement. LEAR: You? Did you? REGAN: I pray you, father, being weak, seem șo. If till the expiration of your month You will return and sojourn with my sister, Dismissing half your train, come
by William Shakespeare [Corola-publishinghouse/Science/1030_a_2538]
-
sumpter To this detested groom. [Pointing at Oswald.] GONERIL: At your choice, șir. LEAR: I prithee, daughter, do not make me mad. I will not trouble thee, my child; farewell. We'll no more meet, no more see one another. But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter, Or rather a disease that's în my flesh, Which I must needs call mine. Thou art a boil, A plague-sore, or embossed carbuncle În my corrupted blood. But I'll
by William Shakespeare [Corola-publishinghouse/Science/1030_a_2538]
-
one another. But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter, Or rather a disease that's în my flesh, Which I must needs call mine. Thou art a boil, A plague-sore, or embossed carbuncle În my corrupted blood. But I'll not chide thee. Let shame come when it will, I do not call it. I do not bid the Thunder-bearer shoot, Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove. Mend when thou canst, be better at thy leisure
by William Shakespeare [Corola-publishinghouse/Science/1030_a_2538]