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 100.
Pàgina 3
... Where once your nobler fathers won a crown . Cowper's Task , b . 2 . ACTIVITY . How slow the time To the warm soul , that , in the very instant It forms , would execute , a great design ! Thomson's Coriolanus , a .
... Where once your nobler fathers won a crown . Cowper's Task , b . 2 . ACTIVITY . How slow the time To the warm soul , that , in the very instant It forms , would execute , a great design ! Thomson's Coriolanus , a .
Pàgina 5
Mallet and Thomson's Alfred . Affliction is the wholesome soil of virtue : Where patience , honor , sweet humanity , Calm fortitude , take root , and strongly flourish . Ibid . The brave unfortunate are our best acquaintance ; They shew ...
Mallet and Thomson's Alfred . Affliction is the wholesome soil of virtue : Where patience , honor , sweet humanity , Calm fortitude , take root , and strongly flourish . Ibid . The brave unfortunate are our best acquaintance ; They shew ...
Pàgina 6
Thomson's Seasons - Winter . ADVICE . Learn to dissemble wrongs , to smile at injuries , And suffer crimes thou want'st the power to punish : Be easy , affable , familiar , friendly : Search , and know all mankind's mysterious ways ...
Thomson's Seasons - Winter . ADVICE . Learn to dissemble wrongs , to smile at injuries , And suffer crimes thou want'st the power to punish : Be easy , affable , familiar , friendly : Search , and know all mankind's mysterious ways ...
Pàgina 7
... their crooked prudence , To baseness verging still , forgets to take Into their fine - spun schemes the generous heart , That thro ' the cobweb system bursting lays Their labours waste . Thomson's Tancred and Sigismunda , a .
... their crooked prudence , To baseness verging still , forgets to take Into their fine - spun schemes the generous heart , That thro ' the cobweb system bursting lays Their labours waste . Thomson's Tancred and Sigismunda , a .
Pàgina 16
Thomson's Coriolanus . Out upon thee , fool ! Go speak thy comforts To spirits tame and abject as thyself : They make me mad . Patience ! Baillie's Ethwald , a . 4 , s . 7 . Hence - that word was made For brutes of burthen , not for ...
Thomson's Coriolanus . Out upon thee , fool ! Go speak thy comforts To spirits tame and abject as thyself : They make me mad . Patience ! Baillie's Ethwald , a . 4 , s . 7 . Hence - that word was made For brutes of burthen , not for ...
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.