The Literary Remains of Samuel Taylor Coleridge: Shakespeare, with introductory matter on poetry, the drama, and the stage. Notes on Ben Jonson; Beaumont and Fletcher; On the Prometheus of Æschylus [and others

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Pàgina 198 - This is the excellent foppery of the world, that, when we are sick in fortune, — often the surfeit of our own behaviour, — we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars...
Pàgina 358 - Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own; Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, And even with something of a mother's mind, And no unworthy aim, The homely nurse doth all she can To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man, Forget the glories he hath known, And that imperial palace whence he came. Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, A six years
Pàgina 249 - It will have blood, they say; blood will have blood ; Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak ; Augurs, and understood relations, have By magot-pies, and choughs, and rooks, brought forth The secret'st man of blood.— What is the night?
Pàgina 59 - Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest, From his moist cabinet mounts up on high, And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast The sun ariseth in his majesty; Who doth the world so gloriously behold, That cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold.
Pàgina 371 - I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live ; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me : and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me. 21 I do not frustrate the grace of God : for if righteousness come by the law, then Christ is dead in vain.
Pàgina 167 - This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise; This fortress, built by nature for herself, Against infection, and the hand of war; This happy breed of men, this little world; This precious stone set in the silver sea...
Pàgina 247 - Which would be worn now in their newest gloss, Not cast aside so soon. , LADY M. Was the hope drunk Wherein you dress'd yourself? Hath it slept since? And wakes it now, to look so green and pale At what it did so freely ? From this time Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard To be the same in thine own act and valour As thou art in desire?
Pàgina 70 - Nature, the prime genial artist, inexhaustible in diverse powers, is equally inexhaustible in forms; — each exterior is the physiognomy of the being within, its true image reflected and thrown out from the concave mirror...
Pàgina 158 - tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door ; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve : ask for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world. A plague o...
Pàgina 178 - Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth...

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