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Page 125 - Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves ; And ye that on the sands with printless foot Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him, When he comes back...
Page 126 - twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault Set roaring war : to the dread rattling thunder Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak With his own bolt : the strong-bas'd promontory Have I made shake ; and by the spurs pluck'd up The pine and cedar : graves, at my command, Have waked their sleepers; oped, and let them forth By my so potent art...
Page 125 - And mine shall. Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling Of their afflictions ? and shall not myself, One of their kind, that relish all as sharply, Passion as they, be kindlier mov'd than thou art ? Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the quick. Yet, with my nobler reason, 'gainst my fury Do I take part : the rarer action is In virtue than in vengeance...
Page 85 - If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that.
Page 115 - A quibble, poor and barren as it is, gave him such delight, that he was content to purchase it by the sacrifice of reason, propriety, and truth. A quibble was to him the fatal Cleopatra for which he lost the world, and was content to lose it.
Page 114 - In tragedy his performance seems constantly to be worse as his labour is more. The effusions of passion which exigence forces out are for the most part striking and energetic, but whenever he solicits his invention or strains his faculties, the offspring of his throes is tumour, meanness, tediousness, and obscurity...
Page 121 - This music crept by me upon the waters, Allaying both their fury and my passion With its sweet air : thence I have follow'd it, Or it hath drawn me rather.
Page 123 - ... makes no just distribution of good or evil, nor is always careful to show in the virtuous a disapprobation of the wicked; he carries his persons indifferently through right and wrong and at the close dismisses them without further care and leaves their examples to operate by chance.
Page 118 - Some heavenly music, (which even now I do,) To work mine end upon their senses, that This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff, Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, And, deeper than did ever plummet sound, I'll drown my book.