A Century of Parody and ImitationWalter Jerrold, Robert Maynard Leonard H. Milford, Oxford University Press, 1913 - 429 Seiten Unlike some other reproductions of classic texts (1) We have not used OCR(Optical Character Recognition), as this leads to bad quality books with introduced typos. (2) In books where there are images such as portraits, maps, sketches etc We have endeavoured to keep the quality of these images, so they represent accurately the original artefact. Although occasionally there may be certain imperfections with these old texts, we feel they deserve to be made available for future generations to enjoy. |
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A Century of Parody and Imitation Walter Jerrold,Robert Maynard Leonard Keine Leseprobe verfügbar - 2015 |
Häufige Begriffe und Wortgruppen
ballad bard beneath bless blue bright brother brown Byron cabbage called cheek Cleuch Covent Garden cried Cursed danced David Garrick dead Delia's Della Cruscans Devil door doth dream Drury Lane Edinburgh Review eyes F. W. H. Myers face fair fate fear fire flame give green hair hand hath head hear heard heart heaven Horace Smith Huggins Huldah imitation JEAN INGELOW JOHN HOOKHAM FRERE katt Lady living look Lord Lord Byron Macbeth moon morning mother Muses never night o'er parody Peter Bell poem poet Rejected Addresses rhyme round scho sing smile song soon soul SOUTHEY Street sweet tears tell TENNYSON theatre thee There's thine thing thou thought turn twas unto verse voice waggonere wase ween wind wonder WOODLOUSE wrote young
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 309 - You are old, father William" the young man said, " And your hair has become very white; And yet you incessantly stand on your head — Do you think, at your age, it is right ? " "In my youth," father William replied to his son, " I feared it might injure the brain; But now that I'm perfectly sure I have none, Why, I do it again and again.
Seite 417 - The skies they were ashen and sober; The leaves they were crisped and sere — The leaves they were withering and sere; It was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial year...
Seite 365 - Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home ; A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there, Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere. Home ! home ! sweet, sweet home ! There's no place like home...
Seite 360 - Which I wish to remark, And my language is plain, That for ways that are dark And for tricks that are vain, The heathen Chinee is peculiar, Which the same I would rise to explain. Ah Sin was his name; And I shall not deny, In regard to the same, What that name might imply; But his smile it was pensive and childlike, As I frequent remarked to Bill Nye.
Seite 93 - She screamed for fresh Geneva. Not to her Did the blithe fields of Tothill, or thy street, St. Giles, its fair varieties expand ; Till at the last, in slow-drawn cart she went To execution. Dost thou ask her crime ? SHE WHIPP'D TWO FEMALE 'PRENTICES TO DEATH, AND HID THEM IN THE COAL-HOLE.
Seite 346 - Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her, And tempted her out of her gloom, And conquered her scruples and gloom; And we passed to the end of the vista, But were stopped by the door of a tomb, By the door of a legended tomb; And I said — "What is written, sweet sister, On the door of this legended tomb?
Seite 308 - How doth the little crocodile Improve his shining tail, And pour the waters of the Nile On every golden scale! "How cheerfully he seems to grin, How neatly spreads his claws, And welcomes little fishes in, With gently smiling jaws!
Seite 420 - Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, And stars to set - but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!
Seite 95 - Rough is the road — your wheel is out of order — Bleak blows the blast ; your hat has got a hole in't, So have your breeches ! ' Weary Knife-grinder ! little think the proud ones, Who in their coaches roll along the turnpikeRoad, what hard work 'tis crying all day " Knives and Scissors to grind O ! " ' Tell me, Knife-grinder, how you came to grind knives?
Seite 5 - And brushed it with a broom. My uncle's porter, Samuel Hughes, Came in at six to black the shoes (I always talk to Sam) : So what does he, but takes and drags Me in the chaise along the flags, And leaves me where I am ? My father's walls are made of brick, But not so tall, and not so thick As these ; and, goodness me ! My father's beams are made of wood, But never, never half so good As these that now I see.