The Book of table-talk [ed. by C. MacFarlane].

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Page 21 - Lo, Warrior ! now the Cross of Red Points to the grave of the mighty dead ; Within it burns a wondrous light, To chase the spirits that love the night. That lamp shall burn unquenchably, Until the eternal doom shall be.
Page 111 - And though you have had and may have many mightier and wiser princes sitting in this seat, yet you never had nor shall have any that will love you better.
Page 114 - King Henry making a mask at the Cardinal Wolsey's house, and certain cannons being shot off at his entry, some of the paper or other stuff wherewith one of them was stopped, did light on the thatch, where, being thought at first but an idle smoke, and their eyes more attentive to the show, it kindled inwardly, and ran round like a train, consuming, within less than an hour, the whole house to the very grounds. This was the fatal period of that virtuous fabric wherein yet nothing did perish but wood...
Page 114 - True, representing some principal pieces of the reign of Henry the Eighth, which was set forth with many extraordinary circumstances of pomp and majesty, even to the matting of the stage ; the knights of the order with their Georges and...
Page 61 - Bacon, and thy lord, was born, and here; Son to the grave, wise Keeper of the Seal, Fame and foundation of the English weal. What then his father was, that since is he, Now with a title more to the degree; England's high Chancellor: the destin'd heir, In his soft cradle, to his father's chair: Whose even thread the Fates spin round and full, Out of their choicest and their whitest wool.
Page 161 - Cambridge is a delight of a place, now there is nobody in it. I do believe you would like it, if you knew what it was without inhabitants.
Page 160 - Maypole, in the Strand, giving them instructions at what rates to carry men into several parts of the town, where all day they may be had.
Page 35 - AND in that day seven women shall take hold of one man, saying, We will eat our own bread, and wear our own apparel : only let us be called by thy name, to take away our reproach.
Page 135 - The Sensual and the Dark rebel in vain, Slaves by their own compulsion! In mad game They burst their manacles and wear the name Of Freedom, graven on a heavier chain!
Page 114 - This was the fatal period of that virtuous fabrick; wherein yet nothing did perish but wood and straw, and a few forsaken cloaks; only one man had his breeches set on fire, that would perhaps have broiled him, if he had not, by the benefit of a provident wit, put it out with bottle ale.

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