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Seite 167 - Nay, take my life and all; pardon not that: You take my house, when you do take the prop That doth sustain my house; you take my life, When you do take the means whereby I live.
Seite 264 - that the child should be instructed in the arts which will be useful to the man;" since a finished scholar may emerge from the head of Westminster or Eton in total ignorance of the business and conversation of English gentlemen in the latter end of the eighteenth century.
Seite 268 - O, that the slave had forty thousand lives ! One is too poor, too weak for my revenge. Now do I see 'tis true. Look here, lago ; All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven : 'Tis gone. Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell ! Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne To tyrannous hate ! Swell, bosom, with thy fraught, For 'tis of aspics
Seite 76 - Heaven derive their light. These born to judge, as well as those to write. Let such teach others who themselves excel, And censure freely who have written well.
Seite 179 - Your sportive fury, pitiless, to pour Loose on the nightly robber of the fold Him, from his craggy winding haunts unearth'd, Let all the thunder of the chase pursue.
Seite 14 - Which is his last, if in your memories dwell A thought which once was his, if on ye swell A single recollection, not in vain He wore his sandal-shoon, and scallop-shell; Farewell ! with him alone may rest the pain, If such there were — with you, the moral of his strain!
Seite 157 - Ha, ha! keep time: how sour sweet music is, When time is broke and no proportion kept! So is it in the music of men's lives.
Seite 94 - COME, gentle Spring, ethereal mildness, come ; And from the bosom of yon dropping cloud, "While music wakes around, veil'd in a shower Of shadowing roses, on our plains descend.
Seite 183 - How melts my beating heart ! as I behold Each lovely nymph, our island's boast and pride, Push on the generous steed, that sweeps along O'er rough, o'er smooth, nor heeds the steepy hill, Nor falters in the extended vale below ! The Chase.
Seite 76 - Live! fear no heavier chastisement from me, Thou noteless blot on a remembered name! But be thyself, and know thyself to be! And ever at thy season be thou free To spill the venom when thy fangs o'erflow: Remorse and Self-contempt shall cling to thee; Hot Shame shall burn upon thy secret brow, And like a beaten hound tremble thou shalt — as now.