A dictionary of quotations from the British poets, by the author of The peerage and baronetage charts, &c1824 |
Des de l'interior del llibre
Resultats 6 - 10 de 100.
Pàgina 18
... blood of those that had encounter'd him . The cannons have their bowels full of wrath ; And ready mounted are they , to spit forth Their iron indignation ' gainst your walls . If we are mark'd to die , we are enough To do our country ...
... blood of those that had encounter'd him . The cannons have their bowels full of wrath ; And ready mounted are they , to spit forth Their iron indignation ' gainst your walls . If we are mark'd to die , we are enough To do our country ...
Pàgina 20
... blood : I only speak right on . BOASTING . Who knows himself a braggart , Let him fear this ; for it will come to pass , That every braggart shall be found an ass . Here's a large mouth , indeed , That spits forth death , and mountains ...
... blood : I only speak right on . BOASTING . Who knows himself a braggart , Let him fear this ; for it will come to pass , That every braggart shall be found an ass . Here's a large mouth , indeed , That spits forth death , and mountains ...
Pàgina 34
... blood : Amaze the welkin with your broken staves . False hound ! If you have writ your annals true , ' tis there , That like an eagle in a dove - cote , I Flutter'd your Volces in Corioli : Alone I did it . COURT . but at court : Our ...
... blood : Amaze the welkin with your broken staves . False hound ! If you have writ your annals true , ' tis there , That like an eagle in a dove - cote , I Flutter'd your Volces in Corioli : Alone I did it . COURT . but at court : Our ...
Pàgina 42
... blood of the child ? She - wolf of France , but worse than wolves of France , Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth ! How ill - beseeming is it in thy sex To triumph , like an amazonian trull , Upon their woes , whom fortune ...
... blood of the child ? She - wolf of France , but worse than wolves of France , Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth ! How ill - beseeming is it in thy sex To triumph , like an amazonian trull , Upon their woes , whom fortune ...
Pàgina 49
British poets. It is too late ; the life of all his blood Is touch'd corruptibly ; and his pure brain ( Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling - house ) Doth , by the idle comments that it makes , Foretell the ending of mortality ...
British poets. It is too late ; the life of all his blood Is touch'd corruptibly ; and his pure brain ( Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling - house ) Doth , by the idle comments that it makes , Foretell the ending of mortality ...
Continguts
56 | |
65 | |
91 | |
94 | |
125 | |
133 | |
135 | |
138 | |
34 | |
53 | |
60 | |
65 | |
71 | |
81 | |
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105 | |
112 | |
121 | |
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128 | |
134 | |
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144 | |
160 | |
166 | |
173 | |
179 | |
189 | |
197 | |
203 | |
209 | |
213 | |
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255 | |
259 | |
268 | |
275 | |
1 | |
7 | |
15 | |
21 | |
22 | |
29 | |
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31 | |
35 | |
42 | |
52 | |
140 | |
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305 | |
312 | |
318 | |
331 | |
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351 | |
Frases i termes més freqüents
ambition art thou bear beauty blood bosom breath Busiris Cæsar cheek clouds Coriolanus Cowper's Task crown curse dare dead death deeds Doge of Venice dost doth dread dream Dryden's Duke of Guise earth Ev'n eyes fair Fair Penitent fear fool fortune friends gentle give grace grave grief Gustavus Vasa hand Hannah More's happy hate hath Havard's head heart heaven hell honour hour Ibid Jane Shore Joanna Baillie's king Lady Jane Grey live look lord Maturin's Bertram mercy Milton's Paradise Lost mind nature ne'er never noble o'er Otway's pale Paradise Regained passion peace Philotas pity poor Rowe's Sardanapalus Scanderbeg scorn shew sigh slave sleep smile soft sorrow soul speak spirit sweet Tamerlane tears tell thee thine things Thomson's Seasons-Spring thou art thou hast thousand thro tongue Venice Preserved virtue weep wind words 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.