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45. oldal - In these two princely boys! They are as gentle As zephyrs, blowing below the violet, Not wagging his sweet head: and yet as rough, Their royal blood enchafd, as the rud'st wind, That by the top doth take the mountain pine, And make him stoop to the vale.
110. oldal - Hence, bashful cunning; And prompt me, plain and holy innocence ! I am your wife, if you will marry me ; If not, I'll die your maid : to be your fellow You may deny me ; but I'll be your servant Whether you will or no.
15. oldal - The infernal Serpent ! he it was, whose guile, Stirred up with envy and revenge, deceived The mother of mankind, what time his pride Had cast him out from Heaven...
21. oldal - Farewell, happy fields, Where joy forever dwells! Hail, horrors! hail, Infernal world! and thou, profoundest Hell, Receive thy new possessor: one who brings A mind not to be changed by place or time. The mind is its own place, and in itself Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.
43. oldal - The spirit-stirring drum, th' ear-piercing fife, The royal banner, and all quality, Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious' war ! And, O you mortal engines, whose rude throats Th' immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit, Farewell ! Othello's occupation's gone ! lago.
23. oldal - Of heav'nly pow'rs were touch'd with human fate! But go! thy flight no longer I detain — Go! seek thy promis'd kingdom through the main!
55. oldal - The downy feather, on the cordage hung, Moves not; the flat sea shines like yellow gold, Fus'd in the fire ; or like the marble floor 'Of some old temple wide.
77. oldal - You may shape, Amintor, Causes to cozen the whole world withal, And yourself too ; but 'tis not like a friend To hide your soul from me-. 'Tis not your nature To be thus idle : I have seen you stand As you were blasted 'midst of all your mirth ; Call thrice aloud, and then start, feigning joy So coldly ! — World, what do I here ? a friend Is nothing.
123. oldal - In thefe principles, and in the examples by which they have been fupported, we fee clearly the reafon why every enlightened age has had, and muft continue to have, its original Writers. We have no right, therefore, to complain that nature is always the fame, or that the fources of novelty have been exhaufted. It is in Poetry as in Philofophy, new relations are ftruck out, new influences difcovered, and every fuperior genius moves in a world of his own.