A History of English Poetry, Том 4Macmillan and Company, 1903 |
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Страница 10
... thee not ; The God thou serv'st is thine own appetite , Wherein is fixed the love of Belzebub.2 And with the same unrestrained passion Marlowe , in the character of a Jew , breathes the fiery longings of his own English nature for power ...
... thee not ; The God thou serv'st is thine own appetite , Wherein is fixed the love of Belzebub.2 And with the same unrestrained passion Marlowe , in the character of a Jew , breathes the fiery longings of his own English nature for power ...
Страница 15
... thee , And lay huge heaps of slaughtered carcases , As bulwarks in her way , to keep her back . I will provide thee of a princely osprey , That , as she flieth over fish in pools , The fish shall turn their glistening bellies up , And ...
... thee , And lay huge heaps of slaughtered carcases , As bulwarks in her way , to keep her back . I will provide thee of a princely osprey , That , as she flieth over fish in pools , The fish shall turn their glistening bellies up , And ...
Страница 16
... thee : Thy body , smoother than the waveless spring , And purer than the substance of the same , Can creep through that his lances cannot pierce : Thou and thy sister , soft and sacred air , Goddess of life and governess of health ...
... thee : Thy body , smoother than the waveless spring , And purer than the substance of the same , Can creep through that his lances cannot pierce : Thou and thy sister , soft and sacred air , Goddess of life and governess of health ...
Страница 41
... thee , and then my state , Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth , sings hymns at heaven's gate ; For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings . XXX When to the ...
... thee , and then my state , Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth , sings hymns at heaven's gate ; For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings . XXX When to the ...
Страница 42
... thee lie ! Thou art the grave where buried love doth live , Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone , Who all their parts of me to thee did give ; That due of many now is thine alone : Their images I loved I view in thee , And thou ...
... thee lie ! Thou art the grave where buried love doth live , Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone , Who all their parts of me to thee did give ; That due of many now is thine alone : Their images I loved I view in thee , And thou ...
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Страница 129 - This is the excellent foppery of the world, that, when we are sick in fortune,— often the surfeit of our own behaviour,— we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars : as if we were villains by necessity ; fools by' heavenly compulsion ; knaves, thieves, and treachers, by spherical predominance ; drunkards, liars, and adulterers, by an enforced obedience of planetary influence...
Страница 149 - O ! who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite By bare imagination of a feast?
Страница 128 - Thou, nature, art my goddess ; to thy law My services are bound : Wherefore should I Stand in the plague of custom ; and permit The curiosity of nations to deprive me, For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon-shines Lag of a brother?
Страница 103 - I do despise my dream. Make less thy body hence, and more thy grace ; Leave gormandizing ; know the grave doth gape For thee thrice wider than for other men...
Страница 42 - O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide, The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, That did not better for my life provide Than public means which public manners breeds. Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, And almost thence my nature is subdued To what it works in, like the dyer's hand...
Страница 131 - Lear. My wits begin to turn. — Come on, my boy : how dost, my boy? Art cold? I am cold myself. — Where is this straw, my fellow ? The art of our necessities is strange, That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel. — Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart That 's sorry yet for thee.
Страница 42 - tis true I have gone here and there And made myself a motley to the view, Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear, Made old offences of affections new.
Страница 150 - That it should come to this! But two months dead: nay, not so much, not two: So excellent a king, that was to this Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother That he might not beteem the winds of heaven Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth ! Must I remember? why, she would hang on him, As if increase of appetite had grown By what it fed on; and yet, within a month, Let me not think on't: Frailty, thy name is woman!
Страница 109 - No, sir," quoth he, "Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune." And then he drew a dial from his poke, And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye, Says very wisely, "It is ten o'clock. Thus we may see," quoth he, "how the world wags.
Страница 98 - 11 sup. Farewell. Poins. Farewell, my lord. [Exit. P. Hen. I know you all, and will awhile uphold The unyoked humour of your idleness. Yet herein will I imitate the sun, Who doth permit the base contagious clouds To smother up his beauty from the world...