Elements of Criticism

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A.S. Barnes, 1869 - Počet stran: 486
 

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Strana 243 - Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you From seasons such as these ? O, I have ta'en Too little care of this ! Take physic, pomp ; Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, That thou mayst shake the superflux to them, And show the heavens more just.
Strana 366 - That, with the hurly, death itself awakes ? Canst thou, O partial sleep! give thy repose To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude; And, in the calmest and most stillest night, With all appliances and means to boot, Deny it to a king ? Then, happy low, lie down ! Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
Strana 415 - But whate'er you are That in this desert inaccessible, Under the shade of melancholy boughs, Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time ; If ever you have look'd on better days, If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church, If ever sat at any good man's feast, If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear And know what 'tis to pity and be pitied, Let gentleness my strong enforcement be : In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword.
Strana 56 - If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle: I remember The first time ever Caesar put it on; 'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent, That day he overcame the Nervii: Look, in this place ran Cassius...
Strana 349 - Commander : he, above the rest In shape and gesture proudly eminent, Stood like a tower : his form had yet not lost All her original brightness ; nor appear'd Less than Arch-Angel ruin'd, and the excess Of glory obscured...
Strana 135 - Half way down Hangs one that gathers samphire; dreadful trade! Methinks, he seems no bigger than his head: The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, Appear like mice; and yon...
Strana 264 - Wednesday. Doth he feel it ? No. Doth he hear it? No. Is it insensible, then ? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living ? No. Why ? Detraction will not suffer it: — therefore, I'll none of it. Honour is a mere scutcheon ; and so ends my catechism.
Strana 260 - By the o'ergrowth of some complexion, Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason, Or by some habit that too much o'er-leavens The form of plausive manners ; that these men, Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect...
Strana 56 - O, now you weep; and, I perceive, you feel The dint of pity : these are gracious drops. Kind souls, what ! weep you, when you but behold Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look you here, Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors.
Strana 401 - Why, well ; Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. I know myself now ; and I feel within me A peace above all earthly dignities, A still and quiet conscience.

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