PoetryVicesimus Knox S. Walker, 1825 |
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... Nature . How hard it is , to hide the sparks of nature ! These boys know little , they are sons to th ' king ; Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive . They think they're mine : and though train'd up thus meanly I could not miss my ...
... Nature . How hard it is , to hide the sparks of nature ! These boys know little , they are sons to th ' king ; Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive . They think they're mine : and though train'd up thus meanly I could not miss my ...
Seite 234
... NATURE and nature's laws lay hid in night God said , " Let Newton be ! " and all was light . 1 From COWLEY . HERE lies the great . False marble , tell me where : Nothing but poor and sordid dust lies here . On a Young Lady . MALLET ...
... NATURE and nature's laws lay hid in night God said , " Let Newton be ! " and all was light . 1 From COWLEY . HERE lies the great . False marble , tell me where : Nothing but poor and sordid dust lies here . On a Young Lady . MALLET ...
Seite 239
... nature touch thee , drop a tear : - If neither move thee , turn away ; For Hogarth's honor'd dust lies here . Epitaph on Paul Whitehead , Esq . HERE lies a man misfortune could not bend ; Prais'd as a poet , honor'd as a friend . Though ...
... nature touch thee , drop a tear : - If neither move thee , turn away ; For Hogarth's honor'd dust lies here . Epitaph on Paul Whitehead , Esq . HERE lies a man misfortune could not bend ; Prais'd as a poet , honor'd as a friend . Though ...
Inhalt
VOL | 1 |
LOVES LABOUR LOST | 7 |
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE | 13 |
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Ajax arms art thou bear beauty behold blood breast breath bright Brutus Cæsar call'd Cassius cheek Comus Cymbeline dead dear death Decius didst dost doth dread dream earth ev'ry eyes fair father fear fire flow'rs gentle give gods gold grace grief Hadad hand hast hath head hear heard heart heaven hell honor hour Iago king Lady light live look lord lov'd lyre Macb Macbeth Macd Marcian mind moon Muse nature ne'er never night noble nymph o'er Othello Pandarus peace pity poor pow'r pride prince Rome round seem'd SHAKSPEARE sight sleep smile soft Sonnet sorrow soul speak spide spirit stamp'd sweet sword tears tell thee thine things thou art thou hast thought thyself tongue twas Tybalt unto Vent vex'd virtue voice weep wind wretched youth