Elia. The last essays of Elia

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W. J. Widdleton, 1871 - English literature
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Page 379 - In the same hour came forth fingers of a man's hand, and wrote over against the candlestick upon the plaster of the wall of the king's palace ; and the king saw the part of the hand that wrote. Then the king's countenance was changed, and his thoughts troubled him, so that the joints of his loins were loosed, and his knees smote one against another.
Page 150 - What wondrous life is this I lead! Ripe apples drop about my head; The luscious clusters of the vine Upon my mouth do crush their wine; The nectarine and curious peach Into my hands themselves do reach; Stumbling on melons, as I pass, Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.
Page 43 - Jonson, which two I behold like a Spanish great galleon, and an English man-of-war ; Master Jonson (like the former) was built far higher in learning ; solid, but slow in his performances.
Page 357 - Despair at me doth throw; 0 make in me those civil wars to cease; 1 will good tribute pay, if thou do so. Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed, A chamber deaf to noise and blind to light, A rosy garland and a weary head: And if these things, as being thine by right, Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me, Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see.
Page 381 - Then spake Joshua to the LORD in the day when the LORD delivered up the Amorites before the children of Israel, and he said in the sight of Israel, Sun, stand thou still upon Gibeon; and thou Moon, in the valley of Ajalon.
Page 359 - Doth lour, nay chide, nay threat, for only this. Sweet, it was saucy LOVE, not humble I. But no 'scuse serves ; she makes her wrath appear In beauty's throne — see now who dares come near Those scarlet judges, threat'ning bloody pain ? O heav'nly Fool, thy most kiss-worthy face Anger invests with such a lovely grace, That anger's self I needs must kiss again.
Page 321 - Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry, But my Love's heart grown cauld to me. When we came in by Glasgow town We were a comely sight to see : My Love was clad in the black velvet, And I myself in cramasie.
Page 173 - I in particular used to spend many hours by myself in gazing upon the old busts of the twelve Caesars, that had been Emperors of Rome, till the old marble heads would seem to live again, or I to be turned into marble with them...
Page 148 - Themmes brode aged back doth ride, Where now the studious lawyers have their bowers. There whylome wont the Templer knights to bide, Till they decayed through pride.
Page 264 - ... prosperity, — an unwelcome remembrancer, — a perpetually recurring mortification, — a drain on your purse, a more intolerable dun upon your pride, — a drawback upon success, — a rebuke to your rising, — a stain in your blood, — a blot on your 'scutcheon...

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