Notes and Queries

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Oxford University Press, 1852
 

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Стр. 12 - His silence will sit drooping. Ham. Hear you, sir; What is the reason that you use me thus? I lov'd you ever: but it is no matter; Let Hercules himself do what he may, The cat will mew and dog will have his day.
Стр. 159 - I am the LORD'S"; and another shall call himself by the name of Jacob; and another shall subscribe with his hand unto the LORD, and surname himself by the name of Israel.
Стр. 139 - Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee — Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they ? Thy waters wasted them while they were free, And many a tyrant since; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts: not so thou; Unchangeable save to thy wild waves
Стр. 12 - I loved Ophelia: forty thousand brothers Could not with all their quantity of love, Make up my sum.
Стр. 198 - Within that awful volume lies The mystery of mysteries! Happiest they of human race, To whom God has granted grace To read, to fear, to hope, to pray, To lift the latch, and force the way; And better had they ne'er been born, Who read to doubt, or read to scorn.
Стр. 12 - Have we not power to lead about a sister, a wife, as well as other apostles, and as the brethren of the Lord, and Cephas?
Стр. 174 - Faith, here's an equivocator, that could swear in both the scales against either scale; who committed treason enough for God's sake, yet could not equivocate to heaven :O come in, equivocator.
Стр. 148 - EVEN such is time, that takes in trust Our youth, our joys, our all we have, And pays us but with age and dust ; Who in the dark and silent grave, When we have wandered all our ways, Shuts up the story of our days ; But from this earth, this grave, this dust, My God shall raise me up, I trust.
Стр. 195 - On a rock, whose haughty brow Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, Robed in the sable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the poet stood ; (Loose his beard and hoary hair, Stream'd like a meteor to the troubled air,) And with a master's hand and prophet's fire Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre...
Стр. 13 - Perhaps it was right to dissemble your love, But why did you kick me down stairs...

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