Ranthorpe ...

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Chapman and Hall, 1847 - 351 Seiten
 

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Seite 112 - Full little knowest thou, that hast not tried, What hell it is in suing long to bide ; To lose good days that might be better spent ; To waste long nights in pensive discontent; To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow ; To feed on hope ; to pine with fear and sorrow ; To have thy Prince's grace, yet want her peers...
Seite 348 - Then gently scan your brother man, Still gentler sister woman ; Though they may gang a kennin wrang, To step aside is human : One point must still be greatly dark, The moving why they do it ; And just as lamely can ye mark How far, perhaps, they rue it.
Seite 150 - How like a younker or a prodigal The scarfed bark puts from her native bay, Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind...
Seite 145 - ... accent of Christians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed, that I have thought some of nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably.
Seite 138 - Y cuando he de escribir una comedia, Encierro los preceptos con seis llaves; Saco a Terencio y Plauto de mi estudio. Para que no me den voces; que suele Dar gritos la verdad en libros mudos; Y escribo por el arte que inventaron Los que el vulgar aplauso pretendieron; Porque, como las paga el vulgo, es justo Hablarle en necio para darle gusto.
Seite 3 - The fountains of divine philosophy Fled not his thirsting lips : and all of great Or good or lovely which the sacred past In truth or fable consecrates he felt And knew.
Seite 278 - And in my heart, fair angel, chaste and wise. I love you ! Start not, speak not, answer not; I love you, — nay, let me speak the rest; Bid me to swear, and I will call to record The host of Heaven.
Seite 180 - A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear, A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief, Which finds no natural outlet, no relief, In word, or sigh, or tear— 0 Lady!
Seite 195 - Miserable creature! If thou persist in this, 'tis damnable. Dost thou imagine, thou canst slide on blood, And not be tainted with a shameful fall ? Or, like the black and melancholic yew-tree, Dost think to root thyself in dead men's graves, And yet to prosper ? Instruction to thee Comes like sweet showers to o'er-harden'd ground ; They wet, but pierce not deep.
Seite 83 - Thy worthless copper shows thee counterfeit. It grieves me not to see how foul thou art, But mads me that ever I thought thee fair. Go, get thee gone, a copesmate for thy hinds ; I am too good to be thy favourite.

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