Cyclopędia of English Literature: A History, Critical and Biographical, of British Authors, from the Earliest to the Present Times, Volume 1
W. and R. Chambers, 1844 - American literature - 4 pages
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afterwards beauty Ben Jonson bishop blood body breast breath bright Cędmon Cęsar called cause character Chaucer court death delight doth drama Earl earth Elizabeth England English eyes Faery Queen fair fancy Faustus fear flowers genius gentle Giles Fletcher give grace hand hast hath hear heart heaven Henry Henry VIII holy honour Jack Cade Jonson king labour lady language learning leave light live look Lord Macbeth merry Michael Drayton mind muse nature never night noble nymph passion play pleasure poem poet poetical poetry poor praise pray prince Queen racter reign rich Richard III Scotland Shakspeare shepherd sing sleep song soul speak Spenser spirit St Serf style sweet taste tears tell thee thine things thou art thought tongue unto verse William Davenant wind wine words writer youth
Page 334 - And ever against eating cares, Lap me in soft Lydian airs, Married to immortal verse, Such as the meeting soul may pierce In notes, with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out, With wanton heed, and giddy cunning, The melting voice through mazes running; Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony: That Orpheus...
Page 326 - Go, lovely rose, Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died.
Page 397 - Dragon's teeth; and being sown up and down, may chance to spring up armed men. And yet, on the other hand, unless wariness be used, as good almost kill a man as kill a good book: Who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God's image; but he who destroys a good book, kills reason itself, kills the image of God, as it were in the eye.
Page 185 - tis his will : Let but the commons hear this testament — Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read — And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds And dip their napkins...
Page 182 - But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks! It is the east, and Juliet is the sun ! — Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid art far more fair than she...
Page 338 - Join voices all ye living Souls: Ye Birds, That singing up to Heaven-gate ascend, Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise. Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep; Witness if I be silent, morn or even, To hill, or valley, fountain or fresh shade, Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise. Hail universal Lord, be bounteous still To give us only good ; and if the night Have gather'd aught of evil, or conceal'd, Disperse it, as now light dispels...
Page 188 - All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players : They have their exits and their entrances ; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Page 336 - Me miserable ! which way shall I fly Infinite wrath and infinite despair? Which way I fly is Hell; myself am Hell; And, in the lowest deep, a lower deep Still threatening to devour me opens wide, To which the Hell I suffer seems a Heaven.
Page 331 - WHEN I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest He returning chide; 'Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?' I fondly ask: but Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies, 'God doth not need Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his state Is kingly: thousands...
Page 342 - While all flowers and all trees do close To weave the garlands of repose! Fair quiet, have I found thee here, And innocence, thy sister dear? Mistaken long, I sought you then In busy companies of men. Your sacred plants, if here below, Only among the plants will grow; Society is all but rude To this delicious solitude. No white nor red was ever seen So am'rous as this lovely green. Fond lovers, cruel as their flame, Cut in these trees their mistress' name; Little, alas, they know or heed, How far...