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Page 21 - They say he is already in the forest of Arden, and a many merry men with him ; and there they live like the old Robin Hood of England. They say many young gentlemen flock to him every day, and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world.
Page 61 - But whate'er you are That in this desert inaccessible, Under the shade of melancholy boughs, Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time; If ever you have look'd on better days, If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church, If ever sat at any good man's feast, If ever from your eyelids wip'da tear, And know what 'tis to pity, and be pitied, Let gentleness my strong enforcement be: In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword.
Page 47 - Under an oak whose antique root peeps out Upon the brook that brawls along this wood...
Page 62 - The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side, His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound.
Page 51 - Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty ; For in my youth I never did apply Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood, Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo 50 The means of weakness and debility ; Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, Frosty, but kindly...
Page 46 - Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, — The seasons...
Page 56 - And loves to live i' the sun, Seeking the food he eats And pleased with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, come hither : Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather.
Page 47 - That feelingly persuade me what I am." Sweet are the uses of adversity, Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head ; And this our life exempt from public haunt Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones and good in everything.
Page 46 - The seasons' difference ; as, the icy fang, And churlish chiding of the winter's wind ; Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, — This is no flattery : these are counsellors, That feelingly persuade me what I am.