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Page 27 - The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, And the free maids that weave their thread with bones, Do use to chant it ; it is silly sooth, And dallies with the innocence of love, Like the old age.
Page 364 - I loved Ophelia: forty thousand brothers Could not with all their quantity of love, Make up my sum.
Page 63 - tis strange : And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths : Win -us with honest trifles, to betray us In deepest consequence.
Page 356 - Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words, And fall a-cursing, like a very drab, A scullion!
Page 358 - Doubt thou the stars are fire ; Doubt that the sun doth move ; Doubt truth to be a liar ; But never doubt I love.
Page 57 - Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood With solemn reverence : throw away respect, Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty, For you have but mistook me all this while: I live with bread like you, feel want, Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus, How can you say to me I am a king?
Page 359 - Pale as his shirt ; his knees knocking each other ; And with a look so piteous in purport As if he had been loosed out of hell To speak of horrors, — he comes before me.
Page 353 - 11 blessing beg of you. For this same lord, [Pointing to Polonius. I do repent : but heaven hath pleased it so, To punish me with this, and this with me, That I must be their scourge and minister.