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Seite 182 - The warrant I have of your honourable disposition, not the worth of my untutored lines, makes it assured of acceptance. What I have done is yours, what I have to do is yours; being part in all I have devoted yours.
Seite 182 - But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I shall be sorry it had so noble a god-father, and never after ear so barren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest.
Seite 103 - All school-days' friendship, childhood innocence? We, Hermia, like two artificial gods, Have with our needles created both one flower, Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion, Both warbling of one song, both in one key; As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds, Had been incorporate.
Seite 40 - O thou that rollest above, round as the shield of my fathers! Whence are thy beams, O sun, thy everlasting light ? Thou comest forth in thy awful beauty ; the stars hide themselves in the sky ; the moon, cold and pale, sinks in the western wave. But thou thyself movest alone. Who can be a companion of thy course...
Seite 406 - These are spots in your feasts of charity, when they feast with you, feeding themselves without fear: clouds they are without water, carried about of winds; trees whose fruit withereth, without fruit, twice dead, plucked up by the roots; Raging waves of the sea, foaming out their own shame; wandering stars, to whom is reserved the blackness of darkness for ever.
Seite 564 - Ever the taste of mobs, but now of lords; (Taste! that eternal wanderer, which flies From heads to ears, and now from ears to eyes.) The play stands still; damn action and discourse; Back fly the scenes, and enter foot and horse ; Pageants on pageants, in long order drawn, Peers, heralds, bishops, ermine, gold and lawn ; The champion too ! and, to complete the jest, Old Edward's armour beams on Gibber's breast, With laughter sure Democritus had died Had he beheld an audience gape so wide.
Seite 406 - Woe unto them! for they have gone in the way of Cain, and ran greedily after the error of Balaam for reward, and perished in the gainsaying of Core.
Seite 564 - There still remains, to mortify a wit, The many-headed monster of the pit; A senseless, worthless, and unhonour'd crowd; Who, to disturb their betters mighty proud, Clattering their sticks before ten lines are spoke, Call for the farce, the bear, or the black-joke.