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Страница 265 - I was a scholar : seven useful springs Did I deflower in quotations Of cross'd opinions 'bout the soul of man ; The more I learnt, the more I learnt to doubt. Delight...
Страница 44 - Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how thou art accompanied : for though the camomile, the more it is trodden on, the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears.
Страница 10 - For mine own interest for once, let this be printed, — that of men of my own addiction I love most, pity some, hate none ; for let me truly say it, I once only loved myself, for loving them, and surely I shall ever rest so constant to my first affection, that let their ungentle combinings, discourteous whisperings, never so treacherously labour to undermine my unfenced reputation, I shall (as long as I have being) love the least of their graces, and only pity the greatest of their vices.
Страница 97 - I could be content that we might procreate like trees, without conjunction, or that there were any way to perpetuate the world without this trivial and vulgar way of coition...
Страница 275 - That all the woods them answer, and their echo ring! Now ceasse, ye damsels, your delights forepast; Enough is it that all the day was youres: Now day is doen, and night is nighing fast: Now bring the bryde into the brydall boures. The night is come, now soone her disaray, And in her bed her lay; Lay her in lillies and in violets, And silken courteins over her display, And odourd sheetes, and Arras coverlets.
Страница 226 - Think you that if his scenes took stamp in mint Of three or four deem'd most judicious, It must enforce the world to current them, That you must spit defiance on dislike'? Now, as I love the light, were I to pass Through public verdict, I should fear my form, Lest ought I offer'd were unsquared or warp'd. The more we know, the more we want: What Bayard bolder than the ignorant? Believe me, Philomuse, i' faith thou must, The best, best seal of wit, is wit's distrust.
Страница 46 - By the faith and trust I bear to my face, 'tis grown one of the most unsavoury ceremonies. Body o' beauty, 'tis one of the most unpleasing injurious customs to ladies.