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admire ancient bard bear beautiful behold better breath bright bring character charm court critics dark death deep delight dull dulness ev'ry fair fame fate fears feel fire fool genius give glorious glory grace grave hand happy hath head hear heart Heav'n hope hour human immortal Jonson keep King Lady land laws leave light live Lord lost merry mind morn Muse nature never night o'er once pass passion play poet pow'r praise pride Prince prove rest rhyme rose Satire scene sense Shakespeare soft song soon soul sound speak spirit stage strain sweet taste tear tell thee thing thou thought town true truth turn vice virtue voice write youth
Page 98 - A strange fish! Were I in England now, as once I was, and had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver. There would this monster make a man. Any strange beast there makes a man. When they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian.
Page 89 - While round the armed bands Did clap their bloody hands. He nothing common did or mean Upon that memorable scene, But with his keener eye The axe's edge did try; Nor call'd the Gods, with vulgar spite, To vindicate his helpless right ; But bow'd his comely head Down, as upon a bed.
Page 62 - The seasons alter : hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose : And on old Hyems' chin and icy crown, An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds Is, as in mockery, set.
Page 62 - But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd, Than that, which, withering on the virgin thorn, Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness.
Page 119 - This pencil take (she said), whose colours clear Richly paint the vernal year: Thine, too, these golden keys, immortal Boy! This can unlock the gates of Joy; Of Horror that, and thrilling Fears, Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic Tears.
Page 117 - In saffron robe, with taper clear, And pomp, and feast, and revelry, With mask, and antique pageantry; Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream.
Page 118 - That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger To sound what stop she please. Give me that man That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, As I do thee.
Page 91 - That place, that does Contain my books, the best companions, is To me a glorious court, where hourly I Converse with the old sages and philosophers ; And sometimes for variety I confer With kings and emperors, and weigh their counsels ; Calling their victories, if unjustly got, Unto a strict account ; and in my fancy, Deface their ill-placed statues.
Page 335 - Or dost thou warn poor mortals left behind, A task well suited to thy gentle mind ? Oh ! if sometimes thy spotless form descend, To me thy aid, thou guardian genius, lend ! When rage misguides me, or when fear alarms, When pain distresses, or when pleasure charms, In silent whisperings purer thoughts impart, And turn from ill a frail and feeble heart ; Lead through the paths thy virtue trod before, Till bliss shall join, nor death can part us more.
Page 54 - There's not a wretch that lives on common charity But's happier than me : For I have known The luscious sweets of plenty; every night Have slept with soft content about my head, And never wak'd but to a joyful morning ; Yet now must fall like a full ear of corn, Whose blossom 'scap'd, yet's wither'd in the ripening.