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Стр. 393 - Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form; Then, have I reason to be fond of grief ? Fare you well: had you such a loss as I, I could give better comfort than you do.
Стр. 456 - tis no matter; honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on ; how then ? Can honour set to a leg? no: or an arm? no: or take away the grief of a wound? no. Honour hath no skill in surgery, then ? no. What is honour? a word. What is in that word honour? what is that honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? he that died o
Стр. 226 - Tis but an hour ago since it was nine, And after one hour more 'twill be eleven ; And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot; And thereby hangs a tale.
Стр. 13 - I have bedimm'd The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault Set roaring war; to the dread rattling thunder Have I given fire and rifted Jove's stout oak With his own bolt, the strong-bas'd promontory Have I made shake and by the spurs pluck'd up The pine and cedar; graves at my command Have wak'd their sleepers, op'd and let 'em forth By my so potent Art.
Стр. 168 - A jest's prosperity lies in the ear Of him that hears it, never in the tongue Of him that makes it...
Стр. 421 - Now is this golden crown like a deep well, That owes two buckets filling one another ; The emptier ever dancing in the air, The other down, unseen, and full of water. That bucket down, and full of tears, am I, Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high.
Стр. 157 - 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.
Стр. 370 - The times have been That, when the brains were out, the man would die, And there an end ; but now they rise again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our stools.
Стр. 194 - If I can catch him once upon the hip, I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. He hates our sacred nation, and he rails, Even there where merchants most do congregate, On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift, Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe If I forgive him ! Bass.
Стр. 193 - If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches and poor men's cottages princes' palaces. It is a good divine that follows his own instructions : I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching.