The Poems of Robert Greene, Christopher Marlowe, and Ben JonsonG. Bell & sons, 1878 - 544 стор. |
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Сторінка
... turning over the charmingly executed hand- coloured plates of British plants which encumber these volumes with riches , the reader cannot help being struck with the beauty of many of the humblest flowering weeds we tread on with ...
... turning over the charmingly executed hand- coloured plates of British plants which encumber these volumes with riches , the reader cannot help being struck with the beauty of many of the humblest flowering weeds we tread on with ...
Сторінка 15
... turn of events is here identical with the passage in Never Too Late , where Francesco is discarded by the courtesan , and the subsequent train of circumstances is similar in both . Roberto , in great distress of mind , bewails aloud his ...
... turn of events is here identical with the passage in Never Too Late , where Francesco is discarded by the courtesan , and the subsequent train of circumstances is similar in both . Roberto , in great distress of mind , bewails aloud his ...
Сторінка 26
... turn ; then blame not scholars who are vexed with sharp and bitter lines , if they reprove thy too much liberty of reproof . And thou no less deserving than the other two , in some things rarer , in nothing inferior , driven ( as myself ) ...
... turn ; then blame not scholars who are vexed with sharp and bitter lines , if they reprove thy too much liberty of reproof . And thou no less deserving than the other two , in some things rarer , in nothing inferior , driven ( as myself ) ...
Сторінка 32
... turning never taketh rest , The top whereof fond worldlings count their bliss . Within a minute makes a black exchange , And then the vile and lowest better is ; Which emblem tells us the inconstant state Of such as trust to Fortune or ...
... turning never taketh rest , The top whereof fond worldlings count their bliss . Within a minute makes a black exchange , And then the vile and lowest better is ; Which emblem tells us the inconstant state Of such as trust to Fortune or ...
Сторінка 41
... turn my blissful sweets to baleful sour , Since fond I desired The heaven whereto my thoughts may not aspire . Ah me , unhappy ! It was my fault t ' embrace my bane , the fire That forceth me die . Mine be the pain , but hers the cruel ...
... turn my blissful sweets to baleful sour , Since fond I desired The heaven whereto my thoughts may not aspire . Ah me , unhappy ! It was my fault t ' embrace my bane , the fire That forceth me die . Mine be the pain , but hers the cruel ...
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Alexis beauty bel ami Ben Jonson blood breath bright Cæsar called CARMELA CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE coloured Coridon court COVENT GARDEN crown death delight desire doth Earl earth Edition English Engravings epigram EURYMACHUS eyes face fair fame fate fear fire flame flowers follies fortune GEORGE BELL Gifford grace Greene Greene's grief hair hast hath heart heaven Hero Hero and Leander History honour Hymen Jonson king kiss lady Leander light live look Lord love's lovers Marlowe masques MELICERTUS Memoir mind mistress muse N'oserez never night nymph Perimedes Phillis Phoebus piece play poems poet Pompey Portrait praise Queen repentance Richard Brome Robert Greene Shakspeare shepherd shine sighs sing smile song sorrow soul swain sweet Tamburlaine tears tell thee Thessaly thine thou art thought Translated unto Venus verse virtue vols vows wanton Wherein youth
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Сторінка 399 - The applause! delight! the wonder of our stage! My Shakespeare, rise ; I will not lodge thee by Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie A little further, to make thee a room : Thou art a monument, without a tomb, And art alive still, while thy book doth live, And we have wits to read, and praise to give.
Сторінка 26 - ... supposes he is as well able to bombast out a blank verse as the best of you; and being an absolute Johannes factotum, is in his own conceit the only Shake-scene in a country.
Сторінка 232 - With coral clasps and amber studs ; And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me and be my love.
Сторінка 271 - I behold like a Spanish great galleon and an English man-of-war. Master Coleridge, like the former, was built far higher in learning, solid, but slow in his performances. CVL, with the English man-of-war, lesser in bulk, but lighter in sailing, could turn with all tides, tack about, and take advantage of all winds, by the quickness of his wit and invention.
Сторінка 231 - And we will all the pleasures prove That hills and valleys, dale and field, And all the craggy mountains yield. There will we sit upon the rocks And see the shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals.
Сторінка 158 - At Sestos Hero dwelt ; Hero the fair, Whom young Apollo courted for her hair. And offered as a dower his burning throne, Where she should sit, for men to gaze upon. The outside of her garments were of lawn, The lining purple silk, with gilt stars drawn ; Her wide sleeves green, and bordered with a grove, Where Venus in her naked glory strove To please the careless and disdainful eyes Of proud Adonis, that before her lies ; Her kirtle blue, whereon was many a stain, Made with the blood of wretched...
Сторінка 334 - Weep with me, all you that read This little story ; And know, for whom a tear you shed Death's self is sorry. 'Twas a child that so did thrive In grace and feature, As Heaven and Nature seemed to strive Which owned the creature.
Сторінка 399 - Euripides, and Sophocles to us; Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordova dead, To life again, to hear thy buskin tread, And shake a stage ; or, when thy socks were on, Leave thee alone for the comparison Of all that insolent Greece or haughty Rome Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come.
Сторінка 382 - Do but look on her eyes, they do light All that Love's world compriseth ! Do but look on her hair, it is bright As Love's star when it riseth ! Do but mark, her forehead's smoother...
Сторінка 230 - The rest complain of cares to come. The flowers do fade, and wanton fields To wayward Winter reckoning yields^ A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses. Thy cap, thy kirtle...