A Literary History of the English People from the Origins to the Civil War

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T. Fisher Unwin, 1926
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Pagina 240 - SINCE brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, But sad mortality o'er-sways their power, How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
Pagina 140 - Oh, thou art fairer than the evening air Clad in, the beauty of a thousand stars...
Pagina 158 - Yes, trust them not: for there is an upstart crow beautified with our feathers, that with his tiger's heart, wrapt in a player's hide, supposes he is as well able to bombast out a blank verse as the best of you; and being an absolute Johannes factotum, is in his own conceit the only Shake-scene in a country.
Pagina 62 - Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts ; Into a thousand parts divide one man, And make imaginary puissance ; Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them Printing their proud hoofs i...
Pagina 417 - I do love these ancient ruins. We never tread upon them but we set Our foot upon some reverend history : And, questionless, here in this open court, Which now lies naked to the injuries Of stormy weather, some men lie...
Pagina 261 - O'erflows the measure : those his goodly eyes, That o'er the files and musters of the war Have glow'd like plated Mars; now bend, now turn The office and devotion of their view Upon a tawny front : his captain's heart, Which in the scuffles of great fights hath burst The buckles on his breast, reneges1 all temper, And is become the bellows, and the fan, To cool a gipsy's lust.
Pagina 335 - I, to comfort him, bid him a' should not think of God, I hoped there was no need to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet. So a' bade me lay more clothes on his feet: I put my hand into the bed and felt them, and they were as cold as any stone; then I felt to his knees, and so upward, and upward, and all was as cold as any stone.
Pagina 238 - That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
Pagina 307 - My liege, I did deny no prisoners. But, I remember, when the fight was done, When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil, Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, Came there a certain lord, neat, and trimly dress'd, Fresh as a bridegroom...
Pagina 191 - The current, that with gentle murmur glides, Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage; But, when his fair course is not hindered, He makes sweet music with the enamell'd stones, Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge He overtaketh in his pilgrimage, And so by many winding nooks he strays, With willing sport, to- the wild ocean.

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