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afterwards beauty Ben Jonson breast breath bright Cæsar called court death delight dost doth drama drink Earl earth England English eyes Faery Queen fair fancy Faustus fear fire flowers FRANCIS BEAUMONT genius gentle Giles Fletcher give grace hand happy hast hath heart heaven Henry Henry VIII honour Hudibras Jeremy Taylor John John Lesley Jonson king labour lady language learning leave light live look Lord merry Michael Drayton mind muse nature never night noble nymph o'er passion play pleasure poem poet poetical poetry praise prince published Queen racter reign rich Robert Herrick Scotland Shakspeare shine sing sleep song soul Spenser spirit St Serf style sweet taste tell thee thine things thou art thought tion tongue unto verse wanton William Davenant wind wine write youth
188. oldal - All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players : They have their exits and their entrances ; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
188. oldal - Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, — The seasons' difference : as the icy fang And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say, This is no flattery : these are counsellors That feelingly persuade me what I am.
399. oldal - I know they are as lively and as vigorously productive as those fabulous dragon's teeth ; and being sown up and down, may chance to spring up armed men. And yet on the other hand, unless wariness be used, as good almost kill a man, as kill a good book. Who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God's image : but he who destroys a good book, kills reason itself, kills the image of God, as it were, in the eye.
328. oldal - Go, lovely rose, Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died.
187. oldal - Ay, but to die, and go we know not where ; To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot ; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod ; and the delighted spirit To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice...
105. oldal - This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise or fear to fall : Lord of himself, though not of lands, And, having nothing, yet hath all.
332. oldal - The Oracles are dumb ; No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving : No nightly trance or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
398. oldal - I am now indebted, as being a work not to be raised from the heat of youth, or the vapours of wine, like that which flows at waste from the pen of some vulgar amourist, or the trencher fury of a rhyming parasite ; nor to be obtained by the invocation of dame Memory and her siren daughters ; but by devout prayer to that eternal spirit, who can enrich with all utterance and knowledge, and sends out his seraphim with the hallowed fire of his altar to touch and purify the lips of whom he pleases...
184. oldal - The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils ; The motions of his spirit are dull as night, And his affections dark as Erebus : Let no such man be trusted.
185. oldal - Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest — For Brutus is an honourable man; So are they all, all honourable men — Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. He was my friend, faithful and just to me: But Brutus says he was ambitious; And Brutus is an honourable man.