Shakespeare's Plays with His Life; Two gentlemen of Verona. Comedy of errors. Taming of the shrew. Much ado about nothing. Love labour's lost. ... like it. Midsummer night's dream. Measure for

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1847 Excerpt: ... there's no blemish, but the mind; None can be call'd deform'd, but the unkind: Virtue is beauty; but the beauteous evil Are empty trunks, o'erflourish'd by the devil. 1 Off. The man grows mad: away with him! Come, come, sir. Ant. Lead me on. Exeunt Officers, with Antonio. Vio. Methinks, his words do from such passion fly, That he believes himself; so do not I. Prove true, imagination, O! prove true, That I, dear brother, be now ta'en for you! Sir To. Come hither, knight; come hither, Fabian: we'll whisper o'er a couplet or two of most sage saws. Vio. He nam'd Sebastian: I my brother know Yet living in my glass; even such, and so, In favour was my brother; and he went Still in this fashion, colour, ornament, For him I imitate. O! if it prove, Tempests are kind, and salt waves fresh in love! Exit. Sir To. A very dishonest paltry boy, and more a coward than a hare. His dishonesty appears, in leaving his friend here in necessity, and denying him; and for his cowardship, ask Fabian. Fab. A coward, a most devout coward, religious in it. Sir And. 'Slid, I'll after him again, and beat him. Sir To. Do; cuff him soundly, but never draw thy sword. Sir And. An I do not,--Exit. Fab. Come, let's see the event..Sir To. I dare lay any money 'twill be nothing yet. Exeunt Scene I.--The Street before Olivia's House. Enter Sebastian, and Clown. Clo. Will you make me believe that I am not sent for you? Seb. Go to, go to; thou art a foolish fellow: Let me be clear of thee. Clo. Well held out, i' faith! No, I do not know you; nor I am not sent to you by my lady to bid you come speak with her; nor your name is not master Cesario; nor this is not my nose neither.--Nothing, that is so, is so. Seb. I pr'ythee, vent thy folly somewhere else: Thou know'st not me. Clo. Vent my folly! H...