King Henry the Eighth

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Macmillan and Company, 1895 - 183 pàgines
 

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Pàgina 99 - Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, And hang their heads with sorrow. Good grows with her: In her days every man shall eat in safety, Under his own vine, what he plants, and sing The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours...
Pàgina 68 - So good, so noble, and so true a master ? Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron, With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord. — The King shall have my service ; but my prayers For ever and for ever shall be yours.
Pàgina 66 - 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. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye ; I feel my heart new open'd : O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes...
Pàgina 76 - Noble madam, Men's evil manners live in brass ; their virtues We write in water. May it please your highness To hear me speak his good now ? Kath.
Pàgina 112 - Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage; Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; Let it pry through the portage of the head Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it As fearfully as doth a galled rock O'erhang and jutty his confounded base, Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Pàgina 68 - Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries ; but thou hast forced me, Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. Let's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me, Cromwell ; And — when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me more must be heard of — say, I taught thee, Say, Wolsey — that once trod the ways of glory, And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor...
Pàgina 69 - Love thyself last : cherish those hearts that hate thee ; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not : Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's and truth's...
Pàgina 69 - O Cromwell, Cromwell, Had I but served my God with half the zeal I served my king, he would not in mine age Have left me naked to mine enemies.
Pàgina 99 - Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror, That were the servants to this chosen infant, Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him ; Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine, His honour and the greatness of his name Shall be, and make new nations...
Pàgina 48 - Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing, die.

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