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Сторінка 270 - THE glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against fate; Death lays his icy hand on Kings: Sceptre and Crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Сторінка 271 - Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill: But their strong nerves at last must yield; They tame but one another still: Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow, Then boast no more your mighty deeds; Upon Death's purple altar now See, where the victor-victim bleeds: Your heads must come To the cold tomb; Only the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom...
Сторінка 285 - I'd use them so That heaven's vault should crack : — O, she is gone for ever ! — I know when one is dead, and when one lives ; She's dead as earth : — Lend me a looking-glass ; If that her breath will mist or stain the stone, Why, then she lives.
Сторінка 271 - Crabbed age and youth Cannot live together ; Youth is full of pleasance, Age is full of care: Youth like summer morn, Age like winter weather ; Youth like summer brave, Age like winter bare. Youth is full of sport, Age's breath is short, Youth is nimble, age is lame : Youth is hot and bold, Age is weak and cold ; Youth is wild, and age is tame.
Сторінка 182 - That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring; Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string. Hence with denial vain, and coy excuse ; So may some gentle Muse With lucky words favour my destined urn ; And as he passes turn, And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud.
Сторінка 47 - Twas pity Nature brought ye forth Merely to show your worth. And lose you quite. But you are lovely leaves, where we May read how soon things have Their end, though ne'er so brave : And after they have shown...
Сторінка 165 - Her lips were red; and one was thin Compared to that was next her chin, Some bee had stung it newly: But, Dick, her eyes so guard her face, I durst no more upon them gaze Than on the sun in July. Her mouth so small, when she does speak Thou'dst swear her teeth her words did break That they might passage get; But she so handled still the matter They came as good as ours, or better, And are not spent a whit.
Сторінка 204 - I did their burning rays behold, Nor voice, whose sounds more strange effects do show Than of the Thracian harper have been told. Look to this dying lily, fading rose, Dark hyacinth, of late whose blushing beams Made all the neighbouring herbs and grass rejoice, And think how little is 'twixt life's extremes : The cruel tyrant that did kill those flow'rs, Shall once, ay me ! not spare that spring of yours.
Сторінка 121 - Stained me—Oh, death and shame ! — the world looked on. And saw this sinewy savage strike me down, Rain blows upon me, drag me to and fro, On the base earth, like carrion. Desperation, In every fibre of my frame, cried Vengeance ! I left the room which he had quitted : Chance, (Curse on the chance !) while boiling with my wrongs.
Сторінка 25 - One of the best that we can show, believe me, Is mildness to a servant. Servants, brother, Are born with fortune's yoke about their necks, And that is galling in itself enough ; We should not goad them under it. Sir E. Brother, your hand. You have a gentle nature : May no mischance e'er ruffle it, my brother...