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actor Adamo Anne Bullen artist Balcony Scene beauty Benjamin West Boydell character charming colour composition Cordelia costume death Delacroix depicted Desdemona dramas drapery drawn Dream dress Droeshout Dusseldorf edition England English painters engraving expression exquisite eyes face Falstaff fancy feeling figure flowers Ford Madox Brown Fuseli Gainsborough Gallery German painters grace Griitzner Hamlet hand heart Henry Fuseli Henry VIII heroines historical human illustrated Imogen inspiration King Lear Lady Macbeth Leslie less London look lovers Makowsky Mark Antony master Merchant of Venice Merry Wives Miranda monumental bust Munich nature never Oberon Ophelia Othello painted passion picture Piloty play poet poet's poetic Portrait of Shakespeare prince queen realise represented Richard Richard III Romeo and Juliet Romney sculptor Shake Shylock Sir John Slender song soul speare stands statue strange Stratford Theatre tion Titania tragedy treated ture Twelfth Night Viola Wilhelm von Kaulbach Wives of Windsor young
Page 116 - Orpheus with his lute made trees. And the mountain-tops that freeze, Bow themselves, when he did sing : To his music, plants and flowers Ever sprung ; as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring. Everything that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art : Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or, hearing, die.
Page 47 - All the images of nature were still present to him, and he drew them not laboriously, but luckily: when he describes anything, you more than see it, you feel it too. Those who accuse him to have wanted learning, give him the greater commendation: he was naturally learned; he needed not the spectacles of books to read nature; he looked inwards, and found her there.
Page 51 - This figure, that thou here seest put, It was for gentle Shakespeare cut; Wherein the graver had a strife With Nature, to out-do the life : O could he but have drawn his wit As well in brass, as he hath hit His face ; the print would then surpass All that was ever writ in brass. But since he cannot, reader, look Not on his picture, but his book.
Page 122 - Have you the heart? When your head did but ache, I knit my handkerchief about your brows , (The best I had, a princess wrought it me,) And I did never ask it you again : And with my hand at midnight held your head , And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time, Saying, What lack you? and, Where lies your grief?
Page 26 - Sundays. O, you must wear your rue with a difference. There's a daisy; I would give you some violets, but they withered all when my father died.
Page 178 - I never heard the old song of Percy and Douglas, that I found not my heart more moved than with a trumpet; and yet it is sung by some blind crowder with no rougher voice than rude style ; which being so evil apparelled in the dust and cobweb of that uncivil age, what would it work trimmed in the gorgeous eloquence of Pindar?
Page 178 - I never heard the old song of Percy and Douglas that I found not my heart moved more than with a trumpet; and yet it is sung but by some blind crowder, with no rougher voice than rude style...
Page 163 - Where the bee sucks, there suck I; In a cowslip's bell I lie: There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat's back I do fly, After summer, merrily : Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
Page 26 - There's rosemary, that's for remembrance: pray you, love, remember: and there is pansies, that's for thoughts. There's fennel for you, and columbines: there's rue for you: and here's some for me: we may call it herb of grace o' Sundays: O, you must wear your rue with a difference.