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 69.
Pàgina 15
The horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks , With torch - staves in their hand ; and their poor jades Lob down their heads , drooping the hides and hips ; The gum down - roping from their pale dead eyes ; And in their pale dull mouths the ...
The horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks , With torch - staves in their hand ; and their poor jades Lob down their heads , drooping the hides and hips ; The gum down - roping from their pale dead eyes ; And in their pale dull mouths the ...
Pàgina 28
It is now dead midnight . Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh . What do I fear myself ? CONSIDERATION . Consideration like an angel came , And whipp'd the offending Adam out of him ; Leaving his body as a paradise ...
It is now dead midnight . Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh . What do I fear myself ? CONSIDERATION . Consideration like an angel came , And whipp'd the offending Adam out of him ; Leaving his body as a paradise ...
Pàgina 32
When you do find him , or alive , or dead , He will be found like Brutus , like himself . Methinks , I see him stamp thus , and call thus , --- Come on , you cowards , you were got in fear , Though you were born in Rome .
When you do find him , or alive , or dead , He will be found like Brutus , like himself . Methinks , I see him stamp thus , and call thus , --- Come on , you cowards , you were got in fear , Though you were born in Rome .
Pàgina 39
What soldiers , patch ? Death of thy soul ! those linen cheeks of thine Are counsellers to fear . What soldiers , whey - face ? You are the hare of whom the proverb goes , Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard .
What soldiers , patch ? Death of thy soul ! those linen cheeks of thine Are counsellers to fear . What soldiers , whey - face ? You are the hare of whom the proverb goes , Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard .
Pàgina 40
He was perfumed like a milliner ; And ' twixt his finger and his thumb , he held A pouncet box , which ever and anon He gave his nose : and still he smil'd and talk'd ; And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by , He call'd them - untaught ...
He was perfumed like a milliner ; And ' twixt his finger and his thumb , he held A pouncet box , which ever and anon He gave his nose : and still he smil'd and talk'd ; And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by , He call'd them - untaught ...
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 |