Specimens of English dramatic poets, who lived about the time of Shakspeare: with notes by C. Lamb (Google eBook)

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Charles Lamb
1813
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Page 38 - And then thou must be damn'd perpetually! Stand still, you ever-moving spheres of Heaven, That time may cease, and midnight never come; Fair Nature's eye, rise, rise again and make Perpetual day; or let this hour be but A year, a month, a week, a natural day, That Faustus may repent and save his soul!
Page 212 - O that it were possible we might But hold some two days conference with the dead, From them I should learn somewhat I am sure I never shall know here. I'll tell thee a miracle ; I am not mad yet, to my cause of sorrow. Th...
Page 31 - Barabas is a mere monster, brought in with a large painted nose, to please the rabble. He kills in sport, poisons whole nunneries, invents infernal machines. He is just such an exhibition as a century or two earlier might have been played before the Londoners, by the Royal command, when a general pillage and massacre of the Hebrews had been previously resolved on in the cabinet.
Page 40 - Cut is the branch that might have grown full straight, And burned is Apollo's laurel bough, That sometime grew within this learned man. Faustus is gone : regard his hellish fall, Whose fiendful fortune may exhort the wise Only to wonder at unlawful things, Whose deepness doth entice such forward wits To practise more than heavenly power permits.
Page 28 - Something still buzzeth in mine ears, And tells me, if I sleep I never wake ; This fear is that which makes me tremble thus. And therefore tell me, wherefore art thou come? Light. To rid thee of thy life ; Matrevis, come. Enter Matrevis and Gurney. Edw. I am too weak and feeble to resist : Assist me, sweet God, and receive my soul.
Page 377 - I sit by and sing, Or gather rushes, to make many a ring For thy long fingers; tell thee tales of love) How the pale Phoebe, hunting in a grove, First saw the boy Endymion, from whose eyes She took eternal fire that never dies; How she...
Page 95 - Give me a spirit that on life's rough sea Loves to have his sails fill'd with a lusty wind, Even till his sail-yards tremble, his masts crack, And his rapt ship run on her side so low, That she drinks water, and her keel ploughs air. There is no danger to a man, that knows What life and death is : there's not any law Exceeds his knowledge ; neither is it lawful That he should stoop to any other law : He goes before them, and commands them all, That to himself is a law rational.
Page 18 - Thirsting with sovereignty and love of arms; His lofty brows in folds do figure death, And in their smoothness amity and life; About them hangs a knot of amber hair, Wrapped in curls, as fierce Achilles' was, On which the breath of Heaven delights to play, Making it dance with wanton majesty.
Page 373 - Here be grapes, whose lusty blood Is the learned poet's good, Sweeter yet did never crown The head of Bacchus ; nuts more brown Than the squirrel's teeth that crack them...
Page 20 - I'll have Italian masks by night, Sweet speeches, comedies, and pleasing shows ; And in the day, when he shall walk abroad, Like sylvan nymphs my pages shall be clad; My men, like satyrs grazing on the lawns, Shall with their goat-feet dance an antic hay.

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