Lectures on the English Language

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Сторінка 356 - OF man's first disobedience, and the fruit Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste Brought death into the world, and all our woe, With loss of Eden, till one greater Man Restore us, and regain the blissful seat, Sing, heavenly Muse...
Сторінка 164 - But he that heareth, and doeth not, is like a man that without a foundation built an house upon the earth; against which the stream did beat vehemently, and immediately it fell; and the ruin of that house was great.
Сторінка 71 - In courts, at feasts, and high solemnities, Where most may wonder at the workmanship. It is for homely features to keep home; They had their name thence...
Сторінка 161 - When we were taken up stairs," says he in one of his letters, " a dirty fellow bounced out of the bed on which one of us was to lie." This incident is recorded in the Journey as follows : " Out of one of the beds on which we were to repose started up, at our entrance, a man black as a Cyclops from the forge.
Сторінка 66 - Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure, Sober, steadfast, and demure, All in a robe of darkest grain, Flowing with majestic train, And sable stole of cypress lawn Over thy decent shoulders drawn. Come; but keep thy wonted state, With even step, and musing gait, And looks commercing with the skies, Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes...
Сторінка 511 - THE measure is English heroic verse without rime, as that of Homer in Greek, and of Virgil in Latin, — rime being no necessary adjunct or true ornament of poem or good verse, in longer works especially, but the invention of a barbarous age, to set off wretched matter and lame metre...
Сторінка 629 - Truly, good Christian Reader, we never thought from the beginning that we should need to make a new translation, nor yet to make of a bad one a good one...
Сторінка 130 - In one corner was a stagnant pool of water, surrounding an island of muck; there were several half-drowned fowls crowded together under a cart, among which was a miserable, crest-fallen cock, drenched out of all life and spirit, his drooping tail matted, as it were, into a single feather, along which the water trickled from his back...
Сторінка 333 - AN EPITAPH ON THE ADMIRABLE DRAMATIC POET W. SHAKESPEARE. WHAT needs my Shakespeare for his honour'd bones The labour of an age in piled stones ? Or that his hallow'd reliques should be hid Under a star-ypointing pyramid...
Сторінка 164 - When you are an anvil, hold you still ; when you are a hammer, strike your fill.

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