The Age of Shakespeare (1579-1631) (Google eBook)

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G. Bell, 1903 - English literature
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Page 21 - SINCE there's no help, come let us kiss and part, Nay I have done, you get no more of me ; And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart, That thus so cleanly I myself can free ; Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows, And when we meet at any time again, Be it not seen in either of our brows That we one jot of former love retain.
Page 67 - The good-morrow I wonder by my troth, what thou and I Did, till we loved? Were we not weaned till then, But sucked on country pleasures, childishly? Or snorted we in the seven sleepers' den? Twas so; but this, all pleasures fancies be. If ever any beauty I did see, Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee. And now good morrow to our waking souls, Which...
Page 112 - My conceit of his person was never increased toward him by his place, or honours : but I have and do reverence him, for the greatness that was only proper to himself, in that he seemed to me ever, by his work, one of the greatest men, and most worthy of admiration, that had been in many ages. In his adversity I ever prayed, that God would give him strength ; for greatness he could not want.
Page 60 - Love in my bosom like a bee Doth suck his sweet: Now with his wings he plays with me, Now with his feet. Within mine eyes he makes his nest, His bed amidst my tender breast; My kisses are his daily feast, And yet he robs me of my rest. Ah, wanton, will ye?
Page 109 - I loved the man, and do honour his memory, on this side idolatry, as much as any. He was, indeed, honest, and of. an open and free nature, had an excellent fancy, brave notions, and gentle expressions...
Page xxvi - My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite.
Page 54 - Great pirate Pompey lesser pirates quails : Justice, he sees, (as if seduced) still Conspires with power, whose cause must not be ill. He sees the face of right t...
Page 105 - Ireland; yet thus much curse I must send you in the behalf of all poets; that while you live, you live in love, and never get favor, for lacking skill of a sonnet; and when you die, your memory die from the earth, for want of an epitaph.
Page 111 - No man ever spake more neatly, more pressly, more weightily, or suffered less emptiness, less idleness, in what he uttered. No member of his speech, but consisted of his own graces. His hearers could not cough, or look aside from him, without loss. He commanded where he spoke; and had his judges angry and pleased at his devotion.
Page 61 - Much ado there was, God wot, He would love and she would not. She said, "Never man was true." He said, "None was false to you.

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