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ancient Ann Hathaway Artemus Ward beautiful Beeton's Ben Jonson bird breath Bret Harte called Catherine of Valois charm Cloth gilt Coloured curious death delight doth drink earth English eyes fair father flowers fool genius give gold grace hand happy hath heart heaven Henry honour Horace Walpole human humour Illustrations Joanna Southcott king lady laugh light live London look Lord man's Mark Twain marriage married mind moral morning nature never night o'er Pepys person play pleasure poem poet poetry poor porringers Queen replied rich Rowland Yorke Shakspeare sleep song sorrow soul story sweet Talmud tell thee things Thomas Hood thou thought Tom Jones truth unto virtue W. A. Clouston wind wine wise woman word write young youth Zozimus
Seite 18 - He was the man who, of all modern and perhaps ancient poets, had the largest and most comprehensive soul. All the images of nature were still present to him, and he drew them, not laboriously, but luckily; when he describes anything, you more than see it, you feel it too.
Seite 129 - Reading maketh a full man; conference a ready man; and writing an exact man. And therefore, if a man write little, he had need have a great memory; if he confer little, he had need have a present wit; and if he read little, he had need have much cunning, to seem to know that he doth not.
Seite 178 - How happy is he born and taught That serveth not another's will; Whose armour is his honest thought And simple truth his utmost skill!
Seite 188 - GOING TO THE WARS Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more.
Seite 159 - Go, lovely Rose, Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows When I resemble her to thee How sweet and fair she seems to be.
Seite 67 - Ladybird, Ladybird, fly away home, Your house is on fire, your children will burn.
Seite 171 - Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill: But their strong nerves at last must yield; They tame but one another still: Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow, Then boast no more your mighty deeds; Upon Death's purple altar now See, where the victor-victim bleeds: Your heads must come To the cold tomb; Only the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom...
Seite 154 - Fear not to touch the best; The truth shall be thy warrant: Go, since I needs must die, And give the world the lie. Say to the court, it glows And shines like rotten wood; Say to the church it shows What's good, and doth no good: If church and court reply, Then give them both the lie. Tell potentates, they live Acting by others...