The Old English Dramatists

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Hougton, Mifflin, 1892 - 132 pagina's

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Pagina 32 - If all the pens that ever poets held Had fed the feeling of their masters' thoughts, And every sweetness that inspired their hearts, Their minds, and muses on admired themes ; If all the heavenly quintessence they still From their immortal flowers of poesy, Wherein, as in a mirror, we perceive The highest reaches of a human wit ; If these had made one poem's period, And all combined in beauty's worthiness, Yet should there hover in their restless heads One thought, one grace, one wonder, at the least,...
Pagina 71 - Call for the robin-red-breast and the wren, Since o'er shady groves they hover, And with leaves and flowers do cover The friendless bodies of unburied men. Call unto his funeral dole The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm And (when gay tombs are robbed) sustain no harm, But keep the wolf far thence that's foe to men, For with his nails he'll dig them up again.
Pagina 47 - And then thou must be damn'd perpetually ! Stand still, you ever-moving spheres of heaven, That time may cease, and midnight never come; Fair Nature's eye, rise, rise again, and make Perpetual day ; or let this hour be but A year, a month, a week, a natural day, That Faustus may repent and save his soul...
Pagina 11 - Wit able enough to justify the town For three days past: wit that might warrant be For the whole city to talk foolishly, Till that were cancelled ; and when that was gone, We left an air behind us, which alone Was able to make the two next companies Right witty; though but downright fools, mere wise...
Pagina 46 - I'll have them fly to India for gold, Ransack the ocean for orient pearl, And search all corners of the new-found world For pleasant fruits and princely delicates...
Pagina 36 - Yet Lamb was hardly extravagant in saying that " the death scene of Marlowe's king moves pity and terror beyond any scene, ancient or modern, with which I am acquainted.
Pagina 101 - Good nuncle, in, and ask thy daughters blessing! Here's a night pities nether wise men nor fools. Lear. Rumble thy bellyful! Spit, fire! spout, rain! Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire are my daughters. I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness. I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children, You owe me no subscription.
Pagina 48 - O, no end is limited to damned souls ! Why wert thou not a creature wanting soul? Or why is this immortal that thou hast? Ah, Pythagoras' metempsychosis ! were that true, This soul should fly from me, and I be changed Unto some brutish beast!
Pagina 27 - Come, Sleep, O Sleep, the certain knot of peace. The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe, The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, The indifferent judge between the high and low!
Pagina 33 - Our souls, whose faculties can comprehend The wondrous architecture of the world, And measure every wandering planet's course, Still climbing after knowledge infinite, And always moving as the restless spheres, Will us to wear ourselves, and never rest, Until we reach the ripest fruit of all, That perfect bliss and sole felicity, The sweet fruition of an earthly crown.

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