The Works of Ben Jonson: With Notes Critical and Explanatory, and a Biographical Memoir, Band 8

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Bickers and Son, 1875
 

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Seite 320 - Yet must I not give Nature all : thy art My gentle Shakespeare, must enjoy a part. For though the poet's matter, Nature be, His art doth give the fashion.
Seite 260 - Or leave a kiss but in the cup And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine. I sent thee late a rosy wreath, Not so much honouring thee...
Seite 320 - And joyed to wear the dressing of his lines! Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit, As, since, she will vouchsafe no other wit. The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes, Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please, But antiquated and deserted lie As they were not of Nature's family.
Seite 317 - Above the ill fortune of them, or the need : I, therefore, will begin : — Soul of the age, The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage, My Shakspeare, rise ! I will not lodge thee by Chaucer, or Spenser; or bid Beaumont lie A little further, to make thee a room * : Thou art a monument without a tomb ; And art alive still, while thy book doth live, And we have wits to read, and praise to give.
Seite 425 - My conceit of his person was never increased toward him by his place or honours ; but I have and do reverence him for the greatness that was only proper to himself; in that he seemed to me ever by his work one of the greatest men and most worthy of admiration that had been in many ages. In his adversity I ever prayed that God would give him strength, for greatness he could not want...
Seite 296 - Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride. Do but look on her eyes, they do light All that Love's world compriseth! Do but look on her hair, it is bright As Love's star when it riseth!
Seite 30 - The fig-tree, not that kind for fruit renown'd, But such as, at this day, to Indians known; In Malabar or Decan spreads her arms, Branching so broad and long, that in the ground The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow About the mother tree, a pillar'd shade, High overarch'd, and echoing walks between...
Seite 222 - Weep with me, all you that read This little story : And know, for whom a tear you shed Death's self is sorry. 'Twas a child that so did thrive In grace and feature, As heaven and nature seemed to strive Which owned the creature.
Seite 319 - Euripides, and Sophocles to us, Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordova dead, To life again, to hear thy buskin tread, And shake a stage; or, when thy socks were on, Leave thee alone for the comparison Of all that insolent Greece or haughty Rome Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come.
Seite 296 - Or the nard in the fire ? Or have tasted the bag of the bee ? O so white, O so soft, O so sweet is she! From...

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