A History of English Dramatic Literature to the Death of Queen Anne, Volume 1 (Google eBook)

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Macmillan and Company, 1875 - English drama - 1247 pages
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Page 560 - WEEP with me, all you that read This little story; And know, for whom a tear you shed Death's self is sorry. 'Twas a child that so did thrive In grace and feature As Heaven and Nature seemed to strive Which owned the creature.
Page 275 - Yes, trust them not: for there is an upstart crow beautified with our feathers, that with his tiger's heart, wrapt in a player's hide, supposes he is as well able to bombast out a blank verse as the best of you; and being an absolute Johannes factotum, is in his own conceit the only Shake-scene in a country.
Page 326 - Yet nature is made better by no mean But nature makes that mean; so over that art, Which you say adds to nature, is an art That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock, And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of nobler race. This is an art Which does mend nature change it rather; but The art itself is nature.
Page 444 - The King's players had a new play, called All is True, representing some principal pieces of the reign of Henry VIII, which was set forth with many extraordinary circumstances of pomp and majesty, even to the matting of the stage; the Knights of the Order with their Georges and garters, the Guards with their embroidered coats, and the like: sufficient in truth within a while to make greatness very familiar, if not ridiculous.
Page 584 - All our English writers, I mean such as are happy in the Italian, Will deign to steal out of this author, mainly: Almost as much as from Montagnie: He has so modern and facile a vein, Fitting the time, and catching the court-ear!
Page 554 - As when some one peculiar Quality Doth so possess a Man, that it doth draw All his Effects, his Spirits, and his Powers, In their Confluxions all to run one Way,' This may be truly said to be a Humour.
Page 573 - ... so solemnly ridiculous, as to search out, who was meant by the gingerbread woman, who by the hobby-horse man, who by the costard-monger, nay, who by their wares.
Page 326 - Sir, the year growing ancient, Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o...
Page 368 - There is an upstart crow, beautified with our feathers, that with his tiger's heart wrapped in a player's hide supposes he is as well able to bombast out a blank verse as the best of you, and being an absolute Johannes-factotum [ie, jack-of-all-trades] is in his own conceit the only Shake-scene in a country.
Page 182 - Why, this is hell, nor am I out of it. Think'st thou that I, who saw the face of God, And tasted the eternal joys of heaven, Am not tormented with ten thousand hells, In being depriv'd of everlasting bliss?

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