A dictionary of quotations from the British poets, by the author of The peerage and baronetage charts, &c |
Des de l'interior del llibre
Resultats 1 - 5 de 61.
Pàgina 6
Rowe's Ulysses . Saints And cool - soul'd hermits , mortify'd with care , And bent by age and palsies , whine out maxims , Which their brisk youth had blushed at . Hill's Henry V. What could I more ? I warn'd thee , I 6 ADVERSITY ...
Rowe's Ulysses . Saints And cool - soul'd hermits , mortify'd with care , And bent by age and palsies , whine out maxims , Which their brisk youth had blushed at . Hill's Henry V. What could I more ? I warn'd thee , I 6 ADVERSITY ...
Pàgina 7
Dryden's Sebastian . Age sits with decent grace upon his visage , And worthily becomes his silver locks ; He wears the marks of many years well spent , Of virtue , truth well try'd , and wise experience . Rowe's Jane Shore , a . 1 , s .
Dryden's Sebastian . Age sits with decent grace upon his visage , And worthily becomes his silver locks ; He wears the marks of many years well spent , Of virtue , truth well try'd , and wise experience . Rowe's Jane Shore , a . 1 , s .
Pàgina 10
... minds are carry'd only to extreme ; To be sublimely great , or to be nothing . Southern's Loyal Brother . Great souls , By nature half divine , soar to the stars , And hold a near acquaintance with the gods . Rowe's Royal Convert ...
... minds are carry'd only to extreme ; To be sublimely great , or to be nothing . Southern's Loyal Brother . Great souls , By nature half divine , soar to the stars , And hold a near acquaintance with the gods . Rowe's Royal Convert ...
Pàgina 15
... With Hell , that thus thou ventur'st to provoke me . Dryden's Duke of Guise . ' Tis all in vain , this rage that tears thy bosom ; Like a poor bird that flutters in its cage , Thou beat'st thyself to death . Rowe's Jane Shore , a .
... With Hell , that thus thou ventur'st to provoke me . Dryden's Duke of Guise . ' Tis all in vain , this rage that tears thy bosom ; Like a poor bird that flutters in its cage , Thou beat'st thyself to death . Rowe's Jane Shore , a .
Pàgina 26
Rowe's Tamerlane . Is she not more than painting can express , Or youthful poets fancy , when they love . Rowe's Fair Penitent , a . 3 , s . 1 . O how I grudge the grave this heav'nly form ! Thy beauties will inspire the arms of death ...
Rowe's Tamerlane . Is she not more than painting can express , Or youthful poets fancy , when they love . Rowe's Fair Penitent , a . 3 , s . 1 . O how I grudge the grave this heav'nly form ! Thy beauties will inspire the arms of death ...
Què en diuen els usuaris - Escriviu una ressenya
No hem trobat cap ressenya als llocs habituals.
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Frases i termes més freqüents
ambition arms bear beauty blood breath Byron's clouds Cowper's Task curse dare dark dead death deeds deep doth dread dream Dryden's earth eyes face fair fall fate fear feel fire fool fortune gentle give grace grave grief hand happy hast hath head hear heart heaven honour hope hour human Ibid Italy keep king leave light live look lord Milton's Paradise Lost mind morning nature never night noble o'er once pain passion peace pleasure poor reason round Rowe's slave sleep smile soft sorrow soul speak spirit stand storm strange sweet tears tell thee things Thomson's thou thought thousand tongue true turn virtue wind wise woman wretched Young's Night Thoughts youth
Passatges populars
Pàgina 52 - tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles And by opposing end them. To die, to sleep...
Pàgina 7 - With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side ; His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness, and mere oblivion ; Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.
Pàgina 53 - The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay, The insolence of office and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin?
Pàgina 238 - Sleep, O gentle Sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down. And steep my senses in forgetfulness...
Pàgina 10 - Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, 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 for ever hide me.
Pàgina 75 - I could a tale unfold whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, Thy knotted and combined locks to part And each particular hair to stand on end, Like quills upon the fretful porcupine : But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood.
Pàgina 46 - Cowards die many times before their deaths ; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear; Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come.
Pàgina 133 - O now, for ever, Farewell the tranquil mind ! Farewell content ! Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars, That make ambition virtue ! O, farewell ! Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, The royal banner ; and all quality. Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war ! And O, you mortal engines, whose rude throats The immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit, Farewell ! Othello's occupation's gone ! lago.
Pàgina 126 - Yet could I bear that too ; well, very well : — But there, where I have garner'd up my heart, Where either I must live or bear no life, The fountain from the which my current runs, Or else dries up ; to be discarded thence ! Or keep it as a cistern for foul toads To knot and gender in ! Turn thy complexion there, Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd cherubin, Ay, there, look grim as hell ! Des.
Pàgina 145 - Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! This is the state of man ; to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him : The third day comes a frost, a killing frost ; And,— when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do.
Informació bibliogràfica
| Títol | A dictionary of quotations from the British poets, by the author of The peerage and baronetage charts, &c |
| Autor | British poets |
| Publicat | 1824 |
| Original de | Universitat d’Oxford |
| Digitalitzat el | 2 Març 2007 |
| Exporta citacions | BiBTeX EndNote RefMan |