The Writings: Old portraits and modern sketches; Personal sketches and tributes; Historical papers

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Стр. 93 - What wondrous life is this I lead! Ripe apples drop about my head; The luscious clusters of the vine Upon my mouth do crush their wine; The nectarine and curious peach Into my hands themselves do reach; Stumbling on melons, as I pass, Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.
Стр. 97 - Tis madness to resist or blame The face of angry heaven's flame ; And if we would speak true, Much to the Man is due Who, from his private gardens, where He lived reserved and austere (As if his highest plot To plant the bergamot) Could by industrious valour climb To ruin the great work of time, And cast the Kingdoms old Into another mould.
Стр. 93 - twas beyond a mortal's share To wander solitary there : Two paradises 'twere in one, To live in paradise alone. How well the skilful gardener drew Of flowers and herbs this dial new; Where, from above, the milder sun Does through a fragrant zodiac run, And, as it works, the industrious bee Computes its time as well as we ! How could such sweet and wholesome hours Be reckoned but with herbs and flowers...
Стр. 198 - A day, an hour, of virtuous liberty, Is worth a whole eternity in bondage.
Стр. 98 - 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 called the gods with vulgar spite To vindicate his helpless right ; But bowed his comely head Down, as upon a bed.
Стр. 30 - I am somewhat too fond of these great mercies, but also because I should have often brought to my mind the many hardships, miseries, and wants, that my poor family was like to meet with, should I be taken from them, especially my poor blind child, who lay nearer my heart than all beside. Oh ! the thoughts of the hardship I thought my poor blind one might go under, would break my heart to pieces.
Стр. 99 - A kingdom, for his first year's rents: And, what he may, forbears His fame to make it theirs: And has his sword and spoils ungirt, To lay them at the public's skirt.
Стр. 32 - This black den which rocks emboss, Overgrown with eldest moss: The rude portals that give light More to terror than delight; This my chamber of neglect, Walled about with disrespect. From all these, and this dull air, A fit object for despair, She hath taught me by her might To draw comfort and delight.
Стр. 30 - Leave thy fatherless children, I will preserve them alive; and let thy widows trust in me.
Стр. 15 - The reader of Pilgrim's Progress cannot fail here to call to mind the wicked suggestions of the Giant to Christian, in the dungeon of Doubting Castle. " I returned," he says, " desperately to my sport again ; and I well remember, that presently this kind of despair did so possess my soul, that I was persuaded I could never attain to other comfort than what I should get in sin; for Heaven was gone already, so that on that I must not think ; wherefore, I found within me great desire to take my fill...

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