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amid Anglo-Saxon Aristotle beauty Beowulf body Britons burning called Celts century character Chaucer Christian Church clergy dark death delight devil divine doth dream earth ecclesiastical England English eternal eyes fair faith father fire French genius gold Gorboduc grace grave Greek hand hath head heart heaven hell Henry Henry II Henry VIII holy human hundred Iago ideas imagination intellectual Italy king lady land language Latin learned less light literature live Lord ment Mephistophilis mind monks moral nature never night noble Norman Odin Ormulum Othello passion Petrarch philosophy Plato poetry poets priest Puritan Reformation reign religion religious rich Richard III Roman Rome Saxon says Scholasticism Shakespeare sing sleep soul spirit sweet sword tell thee things thou thought tion tongue truth unto verse virtue Volpone wonder words write
Page 399 - That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou see'st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west; Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
Page 384 - I'll kneel down, And ask of thee forgiveness. So we'll live, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues Talk of court news ; and we'll talk with them too, Who loses,- and who wins ; who's in, who's out ; And take upon's the mystery of things, As if we were God's spies...
Page 465 - Reading maketh a full man, conference a ready man, and writing an exact man. And therefore if a man write little he had need have a great memory: if he confer little he had need have a present wit, and if he read little he had need have much cunning to seem to know that he doth not. Histories make men wise, poets witty, the mathematics subtle, natural philosophy deep, moral grave, logic and rhetoric able to contend,
Page 387 - Alas, poor Yorick ! I knew him, Horatio : a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy : he hath borne me on his back a thousand times ; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is ! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now ? your gambols ? your songs ? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar...
Page 394 - Love thyself last ; cherish those hearts that hate thee: Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not : Let all the ends thou...
Page 476 - No war, or battle's sound Was heard the world around ; The idle spear and shield were high up hung ; The hooked chariot stood Unstained with hostile blood ; The trumpet spake not to the armed throng ; And kings sat still with awful eye, As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by.
Page 385 - One cried, God bless us ! and, Amen, the other ; As they had seen me, with these hangman's hands, Listening their fear. I could not say, amen, When they did say, God bless us.
Page 486 - A dungeon horrible on all sides round, As one great furnace flamed ; yet from those flames No light ; but rather darkness visible, Served only to discover sights of woe, Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace And rest can never dwell ; hope never comes, That comes to all ; but torture without end Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed With ever-burning sulphur unconsumed.