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LibraryThing ReviewNutzerbericht - PhyllisHarrison - LibraryThing
The author's life is as fascinating as his own stories. To this day the question seems not to have been satisfactorily answered as to who killed Kit Marlowe. A literary genius, many felt him to be ... Vollständige Rezension lesen
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Abig Abigail arms Barabas bear blood body bring brother Christians comes crown death doth earth Edward Emperor Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair fall Farewell father Faustus fear Fern field fire follow friends Gaveston give gold gone governor grace hand hast hath head hear heart Heaven hell highness honour hope horse hundred I'll Isab Itha keep Kent king Knight leave live look lord madam majesty Malta master mean Meph Mephistophilis mighty mind Mortimer never Persian play presently princely queen rest SCENE shalt slave soldiers soul speak Spencer spirit stand stay sweet sword Tamb Tamburlaine Techelles tell thee Ther Theridamas thou thought thousand town Turk turn unto villain walls Zenocrate
Seite 228 - Cut is the branch that might have grown full straight, And burned is Apollo's laurel bough, That sometime grew within this learned man. Faustus is gone : regard his hellish fall, Whose fiendful fortune may exhort the wise Only to wonder at unlawful things, Whose deepness doth entice such forward wits To practise more than heavenly power permits.
Seite iv - What things have we seen Done at the Mermaid! Heard words that have been So nimble and so full of subtle flame As if that every one from whence they came Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest, And had resolved to live a fool the rest Of his dull life.
Seite 223 - Was this the face that launched a thousand ships, And burnt the topless towers of Ilium? Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss! Her lips suck forth my soul! See, where it flies! Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again. Here will I dwell, for Heaven is in these lips, And all is dross that is not Helena.
Seite xxxiv - If all the pens that ever poets held Had fed the feeling of their masters' thoughts, And every sweetness that inspired their hearts, Their minds and muses on admired themes; If all the heavenly quintessence they still From their immortal flowers of poesy, Wherein as in a mirror we perceive The highest reaches of a human wit; If these had made one poem's period...
Seite xxxv - Is it not brave to be a king, Techelles? Usumcasane and Theridamas, Is it not passing brave to be a king, "And ride in triumph through Persepolis?
Seite 185 - 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 depriv'd of everlasting bliss? O, Faustus, leave these frivolous demands, Which strike a terror to my fainting soul!
Seite 227 - ... spheres of Heaven That time may cease, and midnight never come ; Fair Nature's eye, rise, rise again and make Perpetual day ; or let this hour be but A year, a month, a week, a natural day, That Faustus may repent and save his soul ! 0 lente, lente, currite noctis equi! The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike, The Devil will come, and Faustus must be damned.
Seite xxxv - Our souls, whose faculties can comprehend The wondrous architecture of the world, And measure every wandering planet's course, Still climbing after knowledge infinite, And always moving as the restless spheres, Will us to wear ourselves, and never rest, Until we reach the ripest fruit of all, That perfect bliss and sole felicity, The sweet fruition of an earthly crown.
Seite 415 - And there in mire and puddle have I stood This ten days' space ; and, lest that I should sleep, One plays continually upon a drum. They give me bread and water, being a king ; So that, for want of sleep and sustenance, My mind's distempered, and my body's numb'd, And whether I have limbs or no I know not.
Seite xxxiv - Had fed the feeling of their masters' thoughts, And every sweetness that inspired their hearts, Their minds, and muses on admired themes ; If all the heavenly quintessence they still From their immortal flowers of poesy, Wherein, as in a mirror, we perceive The highest reaches of a human wit ; If these had made one poem's period, And all combined in beauty's worthiness, Yet should there hover in their restless heads One thought, one grace, one wonder, at the least, Which into words no virtue can...