Histoire de la littérature anglaise, Volume 2

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Page 188 - Such an act That blurs the grace and blush of modesty ; Calls virtue hypocrite ; takes off the rose From the fair forehead of an innocent love, And sets a blister there ; makes marriage vows As false as dicers...
Page 458 - Dragon's teeth; and being sown up and down, may chance to spring up armed men. And yet on the other hand, unless wariness be used, as good almost kill a man as kill a good book. Who kills a man, kills a reasonable creature. God's image ; but he who destroys a good book kills reason itself ; killfe the image of God, as it were in the eye.
Page 317 - ALMIGHTY and most merciful Father; We have erred and strayed from thy ways like lost sheep. We have followed too much the devices and desires of our own hearts. We have offended against thy holy laws.
Page 219 - Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid : Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut, Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub, Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers. And in this state. she gallops night by night Through lovers...
Page 244 - Mine eyes are made the fools o'the other senses, Or else worth all the rest: I see thee still; And on thy blade, and dudgeon, gouts of blood, Which was not so before. — There's no such thing: It is the bloody business, which informs Thus to mine eyes.
Page 219 - Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs ; The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers ; The traces, of the smallest spider's web ; The collars, of the moonshine's watery beams...
Page 409 - Now just as the Gates were opened to let in the men, I looked in after them, and behold, the City shone like the Sun; the Streets also were paved with Gold, and in them walked many men, with Crowns on their heads, Palms in their hands, and golden Harps to sing praises withal. There were also of them that had wings, and they answered one another without intermission, saying, Holy, Holy, Holy, is the Lord.
Page 450 - Methinks I see in my mind a noble and puissant nation rousing herself like a strong man after sleep, and shaking her invincible locks: methinks I see her as an eagle mewing her mighty youth, and kindling her undazzled eyes at the full mid-day beam...
Page 168 - For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, The insolence of office and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin?
Page 418 - I was confirmed in this opinion, that he who would not be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter in laudable things, ought himself to be a true poem ; that is, a composition and pattern of the best and honourablest things; not presuming to sing high praises of heroic men, or famous cities, unless he have in himself the experience and the practice of all that which is praiseworthy.

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