Grocott's familiar quotations

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Seite 54 - This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands, — This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England...
Seite 107 - Why shrinks the soul Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? 'Tis the divinity that stirs within us; 'Tis Heaven itself that points out an hereafter, And intimates eternity to man.
Seite 195 - Romeo ; and, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine, That all the world will be in love with night, And pay no worship to the garish sun.
Seite 22 - Where all the ruddy family around Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail; Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale; Or press the bashful stranger to his food, And learn the luxury of doing good!
Seite 255 - What years, i' faith? Vio. About your years, my lord. DUKE. Too old, by heaven : let still the woman take An elder than herself : so wears she to him, So sways she level in her husband's heart...
Seite 38 - November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh ; The shortening winter-day is near a close ; The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh ; The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose ; The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes, This night his weekly moil is at an end, Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, And, weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend. Hi. At length his lonely cot appears in view, Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; Th'...
Seite 105 - Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, A great-sized monster of ingratitudes: Those scraps are good deeds past; which are devour'd As fast as they are made, forgot as soon As done...
Seite 142 - Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest, From his moist cabinet mounts up on high, And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast The sun ariseth in his majesty; Who doth the world so gloriously behold, That cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold.
Seite 44 - Delightful task ! to rear the tender thought, To teach the young idea how to shoot, To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind, To breathe the enlivening spirit, and to fix The generous purpose in the glowing breast.
Seite 53 - This royal throne of kings, this scept'red isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea...

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