Wonder of a kingdom; Old Fortunatus, by Thomas Dekker. Bussy D'Ambois; Monsieur D'Olive, by George Chapman

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Whittingham and Rowland, 1814
 

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Seite 125 - If thou art rich, thou art poor ; For, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows, Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey, And death unloads thee.
Seite 339 - Oh, frail condition of strength, valour, virtue In me (like warning fire upon the top Of some steep beacon, on a steeper hill) Made to express it! like a falling star Silently glanc'd, that like a thunderbolt, Look'd to have stuck and shook the firmament.
Seite 338 - Monsieur, nor the Guise, Have any glory in my death, but this, This killing spectacle, this prodigy ; My sun is turn'd to blood, in whose red beams Pindus and Ossa hid in drifts of snow, Laid on my heart and liver ; from their veins Melt like two hungry torrents ; eating rocks Into the ocean of all human life, And make it bitter, only with my blood.
Seite 236 - And as great seamen, using all their wealth And skills in Neptune's deep invisible paths, In tall ships richly built and ribb'd with brass, To put a girdle round about the world...
Seite 260 - Which D'Ambois seeing : as I once did see, In my young travels through Armenia, An angry Unicorn in his full career Charge with too swift a foot a Jeweller That watcht him for the treasure of his brow ; And, ere he could get shelter of a tree, Nail him with his rich antler to the earth : So D'Ambois ran upon reveng'd L'Anou, Who eyeing th...
Seite 118 - There's a lean fellow beats all conquerors ; The greatest strength expires with loss of breath, The mightiest in one minute stoop to death. Then take Long Life, or Health ; should I do so, I might grow ugly, and that tedious scroll Of months and years much misery...
Seite 84 - Give me your hand ; this hand is moist, my lady . . . This argues fruitfulness and liberal heart...
Seite 281 - Turning the rents of his superfluous cures Into your pheasants and your partridges ; Venting their quintessence as men read Hebrew : Let me but hawk at him, and, like the other, He shall confess all, and you then may hang him.
Seite 327 - Yet as the winds sing through a hollow tree And (since it lets them pass through) let it stand; But a tree solid (since it gives no way To their wild rage) they rend up by the root : So this whole man (That will not wind with every crooked way, Trod by the servile world) shall reel and fall Before the frantic puffs of blind-born chance, That pipes through empty men, and makes them dance. Not so the sea raves on the Lybian sands, Tumbling her billows in each others...
Seite 240 - There is a deep nick in Time's restless wheel For each man's good, when which nick comes, it strikes : As Rhetoric yet works not persuasion, But only is a mean to make it work ; So no man riseth by his real merit, But when it cries clink in his Raiser's spirit.

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