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Страница 150 - There is no vice so simple but assumes Some mark of virtue on his outward parts: How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars, Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk; And these assume but valour's excrement To render them redoubted!
Страница 150 - So may the outward shows be least themselves; The world is still deceiv'd with ornament. In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt, But, being season'd with a gracious voice, Obscures the show of evil? In religion, What damned error, but some sober brow Will bless it, and approve it with a text, Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?
Страница 72 - But love, first learned in a lady's eyes, Lives not alone immured in the brain; But with the motion of all elements, Courses as swift as thought in every power; And gives to every power a double power, Above their functions and their offices.
Страница 127 - The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen; man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was.
Страница 162 - My brain I'll prove the female to my soul; My soul the father: and these two beget A generation of still-breeding thoughts, And these same thoughts people this little world In humours like the people of this world, For no thought is contented.
Страница 114 - Ha, ha ! keep time : — how sour sweet music is, When time is broke and no proportion kept ! So is it in the music of men's lives.
Страница 99 - Blow, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude ; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude.
Страница 219 - That for some vicious mole of nature in them As in their birth wherein they are not guilty Since nature cannot choose his origin By the o'ergrowth of some complexion Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason Or by some habit that too much o'er-leavens The form of plausive manners...
Страница 235 - The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven. And as imagination bodies forth The form of things unknown, the poet's pen Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing A local habitation and a name.