A History of English Dramatic Literature to the Death of Queen Anne, Band 1

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Macmillan and Company, limited, 1899 - 1940 Seiten
 

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Seite 489 - Yes, trust them not: for there is an upstart Crow, beautified with our feathers, that with his Tygers heart wrapt in a Players hide, supposes he is as well able to bumbast out a blanke verse as the best of you: and being an absolute Johannes fac totum, is in his owne conceit the onely Shakescene in a countrie.
Seite 490 - I am as sorry as if the original fault had been my fault, because myself have seen his demeanour no less civil than he excellent in the quality he professes: besides, divers of worship have reported his uprightness of dealing which argues his honesty, and his facetious grace in writing, that approves his art.
Seite 316 - Marlowe, bathed in the Thespian springs, Had in him those brave translunary things That the first poets had ; his raptures were All air and fire, which made his verses clear ; For that fine madness still he did retain Which rightly should possess a poet's brain.
Seite 565 - Yet nature is made better by no mean, But nature makes that mean : so, o'er that art Which, you say, adds to nature, is an art That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock ; And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of nobler race. This is an art Which does mend nature, change it rather : but The art itself is nature.
Seite 277 - Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how thou art accompanied : for though the camomile, the more it is trodden on, the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears.
Seite 502 - For gain, not glory, wing'd his roving flight, And grew immortal in his own despite.
Seite 490 - With neither of them that take offence was I acquainted, and with one of them I care not if I never be...
Seite 332 - Why this is hell, nor am I out of it : Think'st thou that I who saw the face of God, And tasted the eternal joys of Heaven, Am not tormented with ten thousand hells, In being deprived of everlasting bliss ? O Faustus!
Seite 564 - Sir, the year growing ancient, Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth Of trembling winter, — the fairest flowers o...
Seite 209 - A tragi-comedy is not so called in respect of mirth and killing, but in respect it wants deaths, which is enough to make it no tragedy, yet brings some near to it, which is enough to make it no comedy...

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