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Sonntag, 10. November 2019

Bilder von Moritz Kennel in Sammelbilderalben, 19. Teil

Die ungeschickte Margoton

N.P.C.K. erzählt, Band 6, 1949 

 Alles fiel zu Boden

 Ein schöner Wagen

 Margoton gab die Hand

 Der Wirt staunte

 Ein schöner Blumenstrauss

 "Ei, welche Magd wir haben!"

 Sie stolzierte umher.

 Die Königin stieg aus

 Margaton war stolz

 Woran dachte Margoton?

 DerWirt schlug sie

Sie blies auf ihre Finger

Mittwoch, 6. November 2019

Shakespeare's TWELFTH NIGHT with illustrations by W. HEATH ROBINSON

William Heath Robinson (31 May 1872 – 13 September 1944) was an English cartoonist, illustrator and artist. The book edition of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night with his illustrations was publihed 1908.

Twelfth Night, or What You Will is a romantic comedy by William Shakespeare, believed to have been written around 1601–1602 as a Twelfth Night's entertainment for the close of the Christmas season. The play centres on the twins Viola and Sebastian, who are separated in a shipwreck. Viola (who is disguised as Cesario) falls in love with Duke Orsino, who in turn is in love with Countess Olivia. Upon meeting Viola, Countess Olivia falls in love with her thinking she is a man.


 Frontispiece
 Practising behaviour to his own shadow.


So full of shapes is fancy
 O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first.

 But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk.

 What country, friends, is this?


With drinking healths to my niece.

 My name is Mary, sir.

 Yet, a barful strife!
Whoe'er I woo, myself  would be his wife.

 Yet you will be hanged for being do long absent.

 Give me faith, I say.

 But we will draw the curtain and show you the picture.

No, sooth, sir: my determinable voyage is mere extravagancy.


O time ! thou must untangle this, not I.




That can sing both high and low.


Journeys end in lovers meeting.


Present mirth hath present laughter.




A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.


My masters, are you mad?

Come away, come away, death!

I am slain by a fair and cruel maid.



Lay me, O, where Sad true lover never find my grave,
To weep there!


She pined in thought.


'Tis but fortune; all is fortune.

For many do call me fool.

No, sir, I live by the church.

I do remember.

Sweet lady, ho, ho.

Now will not I deliver his letter.

Well, come again to-morrow; fare thee well.

Pray God, he keep his oath!

Sayest thou that house is dark?


They have here propertied me; keep me in darkness.

Blame not this haste of mine.

Good madame, hear me speak.

When that I was a little tiny boy.



For the rain raineth every day.

'Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gates.

But when I came, alas! to wive.

With toss-pots still have drunken heads.

Our play is done.

W. Heath Robinson