Democritus in London: With the Mad Pranks and Comical Conceits of Motley and Robin Good-fellow, to which are Added Notes Festivous, Etc

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W. Pickering, 1852 - 312 頁
 

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第 176 頁 - tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door ; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve : ask for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world. A plague o...
第 76 頁 - I do love these ancient ruins. We never tread upon them but we set Our foot upon some reverend history ; And, questionless, here in this open court, Which now lies naked to the injuries Of stormy weather, some men lie...
第 297 頁 - Tis a very good world to live in, To lend or to spend or to give in, But to beg or to borrow or get a man's own, 'Tis the very worst world that ever was known.
第 235 頁 - London, to thee I do present the merry month of May; Let each true subject be content to hear me what I say: For from the top of conduit-head, as plainly may appear, I will both tell my name to you, and wherefore I came here. My name is Ralph, by due descent though not ignoble I, Yet far inferior to the flock of gracious grocery...
第 32 頁 - What judgment I had, increases rather than diminishes ; and thoughts, such as they are, come crowding in so fast upon me, that my only difficulty is to choose or to reject ; to run them into verse, or to give them the other harmony of prose.
第 238 頁 - Sir, this is a busy day with us, we cannot hear you ; it is Robin Hood's day. The parish are gone abroad to gather for Robin Hood : I pray you let them not.
第 290 頁 - Of every hearer; for it so falls out That what we have we prize not to the worth Whiles we enjoy it, but being lack'd and lost, Why, then we rack the value, then we find The virtue that possession would not show us Whiles it was ours.
第 286 頁 - In the morning, after the priest had given him the last sacraments, he said, "There is nothing that is meritorious but virtue and friendship, and indeed friendship itself is only a part of virtue.
第 21 頁 - Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten, In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

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