The Lives of the Poets-laureate: With an Introductory Essay on the Title and Office

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R. Bentley, 1853 - 428 pàgines
 

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Pàgina 104 - Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine.
Pàgina 100 - I loved the man, and do honour his memory, on this side idolatry, as much as any. He was, indeed, honest, and of. an open and free nature, had an excellent fancy, brave notions, and gentle expressions ; wherein he flowed with that facility, that sometimes it was necessary he should be stopped : Snfflaminandus erat, as Augustus said of Haterius.
Pàgina 107 - Catiline. But he has done his robberies so openly that one may see he fears not to be taxed by any law. He invades authors like a monarch, and what would be theft in other poets is only victory in him.
Pàgina 428 - Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart: Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea: Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, So didst thou travel on life's common way, In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart The lowliest duties on herself did lay.
Pàgina 402 - The Moon hung naked in a firmament Of azure without cloud, and at my feet Rested a silent sea of hoary mist. A hundred hills their dusky backs upheaved All over this still ocean...
Pàgina 106 - As for Jonson, to whose character I am now arrived, if we look upon him while he was himself, (for his last plays were but his dotages) I think him the most learned and judicious writer which any theatre ever had.
Pàgina 80 - A lily of a day Is fairer far in May; Although it fall and die that night, It was the plant and flower of light. In small proportions we just beauties see, And in short measures life may perfect be.
Pàgina 40 - ... in suing long to bide : To lose good days, that might be better spent; To waste long nights in pensive discontent; To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow; To feed on hope, to pine with fear and sorrow; To have thy prince's grace, yet want her peers...
Pàgina 104 - I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine. I sent thee late a rosy wreath, Not so much honouring thee...
Pàgina 76 - Come leave the loathed stage, And the more loathsome age ; Where pride and impudence, in faction knit, Usurp the chair of wit ! Indicting and arraigning every day Something they call a play. Let their fastidious, vain Commission of the brain Run on and rage, sweat, censure and condemn ; They were not made for thee, less thou for them.

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