The Miscellaneous Works, Volume 1 (Google eBook)

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H.C. Baird, 1854 - English literature
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Page 191 - Nay, take my life and all; pardon not that. You take my house, when you do take the prop That doth sustain my house ; you take my life, When you do take the means whereby I live.
Page 39 - In those vernal seasons of the year, when the air is calm and pleasant, it were an injury and sullenness against nature, not to go out and see her riches, and partake in her rejoicing with heaven and earth.
Page 33 - That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him. Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell Of different flowers in odour and in hue, Could make me any summer's story tell, Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew : Nor did I wonder at the...
Page 167 - To His Coy Mistress Had we but world enough, and time, This coyness, Lady, were no crime; We would sit down and think which way To walk, and pass our long love's day. Thou by the Indian Ganges' side Should'st rubies find: I by the tide Of Humber would complain.
Page 197 - But the iniquity of oblivion blindly scattereth her poppy, and deals with the memory of men without distinction to merit of perpetuity. Who can but pity the founder of the pyramids ? Herostratus lives that burnt the temple of Diana, he is almost lost that built it.
Page 239 - Yet nature is made better by no mean, But nature makes that mean: so, o'er 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 25 - The best of men That e'er wore earth about him, was a sufferer ; A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit ; The first true gentleman that ever breathed.
Page 147 - Even such is man, whose borrowed light Is straight called in, and paid to-night. The wind blows out, the bubble dies ; The spring entombed in autumn lies ; The dew dries up, the star is shot ; The flight is past and man forgot.
Page 38 - Her face was veiled ; yet to my fancied sight Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shined So clear as in no face with more delight. But, oh ! as to embrace me she inclined, I waked, she fled, and day brought back my night.
Page 197 - Oblivion is not to be hired. The greater part must be content to be as though they had not been, to be found in the register of God, not in the record of man.

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