The Works of John Dryden: Now First Collected in Eighteen Volumes, Том 11

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Сторінка 167 - From harmony, from heavenly harmony This universal frame began ; When Nature underneath a heap Of jarring atoms lay, And could not heave her head, The tuneful voice was heard from high, Arise, ye more than dead.
Сторінка 187 - War, he sung, is toil and trouble, Honour but an empty bubble, Never ending, still beginning ; Fighting still, and still destroying ; If the world be worth thy winning, Think, O think, it worth enjoying : Lovely Thais sits beside thee, Take the good the gods provide thee ! —The many rend the skies with loud applause ; So Love was crown'd, but Music won the cause.
Сторінка 185 - Flush'd with a purple grace, He shows his honest face ; Now give the hautboys breath : he comes ! he comes ! Bacchus, ever fair and young, Drinking joys did first ordain ; Bacchus...
Сторінка 226 - Tis sufficient to say, according to the proverb, that here is God's plenty. We have our forefathers and great grand-dames all before us, as they were in Chaucer's days: their general characters are still remaining in mankind, and even in England, though they are called by other names than those of Monks, and Friars, and Canons, and Lady Abbesses, and Nuns; 'for mankind is ever the same, and nothing lost out of nature, though everything is altered.
Сторінка 187 - Now strike the golden lyre again ; A louder yet, and yet a louder strain. Break his bands of sleep asunder, And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder. Hark, hark ! the horrid sound . Has raised up his head ; As awaked from the dead, And amazed, he stares around. Revenge, revenge...
Сторінка 184 - In flower of youth and beauty's pride. Happy, happy, happy pair! None but the brave, None but the brave, None but the brave deserves the fair...
Сторінка 170 - To all the blest above : So when the last and dreadful hour This crumbling pageant shall devour, The trumpet shall be heard on high, The dead shall live, the living die, And Music shall untune the sky.
Сторінка 160 - Three poets in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy, and England did adorn; The first in loftiness of thought surpassed, The next in majesty; in both the last. The force of Nature could no further go, To make a third she joined the former two.
Сторінка 219 - In the first place, as he is the father of English poetry, so I hold him in the same degree of veneration as the Grecians held Homer or the Romans Virgil.
Сторінка 191 - But, oh, inflame and fire our hearts ! Our frailties help, our vice control, Submit the senses to the soul; And when rebellious they are grown, Then lay thy hand, and hold them down. Chase from our minds the infernal foe, And peace, the fruit of Love, bestow ; And lest our feet should step astray, Protect and guide us in the way.

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