The Works of Charles and Mary Lamb: Elia and The last essays of Elia

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Methuen & Company, 1903
 

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Pàgina 391 - For whilst, to the shame of slow-endeavouring art, Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart Hath, from the leaves of thy unvalued book, Those Delphic lines with deep impression took ; Then thou, our fancy of itself bereaving, Dost make us marble, with too much conceiving ; And, so sepulchred, in such pomp dost lie, That kings, for such a tomb, would wish to die.
Pàgina 349 - The raven himself is hoarse That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements. Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full Of direst cruelty ! make thick my blood ; Stop up...
Pàgina 214 - I read it in thy looks ; thy languish! grace To me, that feel the like, thy state descries. Then, even of fellowship, O Moon, tell me, Is constant love deem'd there but want of wit ? Are beauties there as proud as here they be ? Do they above love to be loved, and yet Those lovers scorn, whom that love doth possess ? Do they call virtue there — ungratefulness ! The last line of this poem is a little obscured by transposition.
Pàgina 457 - A name to all succeeding ages curst: For close designs and crooked counsels fit, Sagacious, bold, and turbulent of wit; Restless, unfixed in principles and place; In power unpleased, impatient of disgrace ; A fiery soul, which, working out its way, Fretted the pigmy body to decay, And o'er-informed the tenement of clay...
Pàgina 320 - If all the year were playing holidays, To sport would be as tedious as to work...
Pàgina 84 - 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...
Pàgina 338 - Why, then the world, and all that's in't, is nothing; The covering sky is nothing; Bohemia nothing; My wife is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings, If this be nothing.
Pàgina 215 - Despair at me doth throw; 0 make in me those civil wars to cease; 1 will good tribute pay, if thou do so. Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed, A chamber deaf to noise and blind to light, A rosy garland and a weary head: And if these things, as being thine by right, Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me, Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see.
Pàgina 363 - O God ! methinks it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run: How many make the hour full complete; How many hours bring about the day ; How many days will finish up the year; How many years a mortal man may live.
Pàgina 172 - Statutes at Large; the works of Hume, Gibbon, Robertson, Beattie, Soame Jenyns, and, generally, all those volumes which "no gentleman's library should be without " : the Histories of Flavius Josephus (that learned Jew), and Paley's Moral Philosophy.

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