Què opinen els usuaris - Escriviu una ressenya
No hem trobat cap ressenya als llocs habituals.
Altres edicions - Mostra-ho tot
accent acute accent articulation beauty behold bless boat Brahmin breath called Carbonic Acid clouds Columbus Consonant dark death delight Demosthenes Diphthong earth elementary sound Ellipsis exercise fall father fear feel feet fire flowers forest friends give gladiator glory Gout grave accent gray wolf hand happy hath heard heart heaven honor hope hour human inflection John Henderson John Pounds king labor language letters light live look Lord Madame Roland mark master means mind moon morning mountain mute nature never night o'er ocean once Orthoepy passed person poor rising round seemed ship short smile sometimes soul speak spirit spring stars stream syllable thee things thou thought thousand tion Town Pump truth turned utter voice Vowel waves wind words young youth
Pàgina 343 - Julius bleed for justice' sake? What villain touch'd his body, that did stab, And not for justice? What, shall one of us, That struck the foremost man of all this world, But for supporting robbers ; shall we now Contaminate our fingers with base bribes ? And sell the mighty space of our large honors, For so much trash, as may be grasped thus? — I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, Than such a Roman.
Pàgina 366 - I have of late — but wherefore I know not — lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory, this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.
Pàgina 368 - Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me ! You would play upon me ; you would seem to know my stops ; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery ; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass : and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ ; yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe ? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.
Pàgina 343 - All this? ay, more: Fret till your proud heart break; Go, show your slaves how choleric you are, And make your bondmen tremble.
Pàgina 265 - The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike the inevitable hour: The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Pàgina 411 - This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under me and now has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye: I feel my heart new opened. O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes
Pàgina 315 - Alas! alas! Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once ; And He that might the vantage best have took, Found out the remedy : How would you be, If he, which is the top of judgment, should But judge you as you are? O, think on that; And mercy then will breathe within your lips, Like man new made 4.
Pàgina 396 - tis said, when all were fired, Filled with fury, rapt, inspired, From the supporting myrtles round They snatched her instruments of sound ; And, as they oft had heard apart Sweet lessons of her forceful art, Each (for Madness ruled the hour) Would prove his own expressive power.
Pàgina 313 - When service should in. my old limbs lie lame, And unregarded age in corners thrown. Take that : and He that doth the ravens feed, Yea, providently caters for the sparrow, Be comfort to my age ! Here is the gold ; All this I give you.
Pàgina 311 - When I look upon the tombs of the great, every emotion of envy dies in me ; when I read the epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out; when I meet with the grief of parents upon a tombstone, my heart melts with compassion ; when I see the tomb of the parents themselves, I consider the vanity of grieving for those whom we must quickly follow...