The Anatomy of Melancholy,: In which the Kinds, Causes, Consequences, and Cures of this English Malady, ... are -- "traced from Within Its Inmost Centre to Its Outmost Skin."

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N. Hailes, ... John Bumpus, ... John Walker, ...; and Richard Griffin and Company Glasgow., 1824 - 339 Seiten

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Seite 289 - Such an act, That blurs the grace and blush of modesty ; Calls virtue, hypocrite; takes off the rose From the fair forehead of an innocent love, And sets a blister there ; makes marriage vows As false as dicers...
Seite 213 - So hand in hand they pass'd, the loveliest pair, That ever since in love's embraces met; Adam the goodliest man of men since born His sons, the fairest of her daughters Eve.
Seite 137 - TIRED Nature's sweet restorer, balmy Sleep ! He, like the world, his ready visit pays Where Fortune smiles ; the wretched he forsakes ; Swift on his downy pinion flies from woe, And lights on lids unsullied with a tear.
Seite 236 - Twere now to be most happy, for I fear My soul hath her content so absolute That not another comfort like to this Succeeds in unknown fate.
Seite 234 - Why, then the world, and all that's in't, is nothing; The covering sky is nothing; Bohemia nothing; My wife is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings, If this be nothing.
Seite 33 - There is, said Michael, if thou well observe The rule of not too much, by temperance taught In what thou eat'st and drink'st, seeking from thence Due nourishment, not gluttonous delight...
Seite 275 - She, who ne'er answers till a husband cools, Or, if she rules him, never shows she rules ; Charms by accepting, by submitting sways, Yet has her humour most, when she obeys...
Seite 7 - O mine hard fate 1 now repent, but 'tis too late. No torment is so bad as love, So bitter to my soul can prove. All my griefs to this are jolly, Naught so harsh as melancholy. Friends and companions get you gone, 'Tis my desire to be alone ; Ne'er well but when my thoughts and I Do domineer in privacy. No Gem, no treasure like to this, 'Tis my delight, my crown, my bliss. All my joys to this are folly, Naught so sweet as melancholy.
Seite 250 - Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye Than twenty of their swords : look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity.
Seite 208 - Yet empty of all good wherein consists Woman's domestic honour and chief praise ; Bred only and completed to the taste Of lustful appetence, to sing, to dance, To dress, and troll the tongue, and roll the eye.

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