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Seite 161 - Nature, was a most gentle expresser of it : his mind and hand went together ; and what he thought, he uttered with that easiness, that we have scarce received from him a blot in his papers.
Seite 349 - What if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord, Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff That beetles o'er his base into the sea, And there assume some other horrible form, Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason And draw you into madness?
Seite 134 - I myself thought good to imitate the Italian fashion by this forked cutting of meate, not only while I was in Italy, but also in Germany, and oftentimes in England since I came home...
Seite 66 - 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 Than words that soothe her.
Seite 39 - I'll never want her! Coin her out of cobwebs, Dust, but I'll have her! raise wool upon egg-shells, Sir, and make grass grow out of marrow-bones, To make her come!
Seite 343 - O but I loved the more ; and she might read it Best in my silence, had she been Host. — as melancholic As you are. Pray you, why would you stand mute, sir ? Lov. O, thereon hangs a history, mine host. Did you ever know or hear...
Seite 9 - Here, there, and every where, as the cat is with the mice; True Vetus Iniquitas. Lack'st thou cards, friend, or dice? I will teach thee [to] cheat, child, to cog, lie and swagger, And ever and anon to be drawing forth thy dagger: To swear by Gogs-nowns, like a lusty Juventus, In a cloak to thy heel, and a hat like a pent-house.
Seite 265 - ... Rears bulwark pies, and for his outer works, He raiseth ramparts of immortal crust; And teacheth all the tactics, at one dinner: What ranks, what files, to put his dishes in; The whole art military. Then he knows The influence of the stars upon his meats, And all their seasons, tempers, qualities, And so to fit his relishes and sauces. He has nature in a pot, 'bove all the chymists, Or airy brethren of the Rosie-cross. He is an architect, an engineer, A soldier, a physician, a philosopher, A...
Seite 408 - It was a beauty that I saw So pure, so perfect, as the frame Of all the universe was lame, To that one figure, could I draw, Or give least line of it a law ! " A skein of silk without a knot, A fair march made without a halt, A curious form without a fault, A printed book without a blot, All beauty, and without a spot I