The Dramatic Works of James Sheridan Knowles: The maid of Mariendorpt. Love. John of Procida. Old maids. The rose of Arragon

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E. Moxon, 1843
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Page 89 - Not in descent alone, then, lies degree, Which from descent to nature may be traced, Its proper fount! And that, which nature did, You'll grant she may be like to do again; And in a very peasant, yea, a slave, Enlodge the worth that roots the noble tree.
Page 96 - Italian, at All things a song ; and in another skip, Gruff Dutchman ; — still is love behind the masque ! It is a hypocrite ! — looks every way But that where lie its thoughts ! — will openly Frown at the thing it smiles in secret on ; Shows most like hate, e'en when it most is love ; Would fain convince you it is very rock When it is water ! ice when it is fire ! Is oft its own dupe, like a thorough cheat ; Persuades itself 'tis not the thing it is ; Holds up its head, purses its brows, and...
Page 90 - Against himself, in that ! He should have known A better trick, who had at hand his own Excelling nature to admonish him, Than the low cunning of the common craft. A hind, his hero, won the lady's love : He had worth enough for that ! Her heart was his. Wedlock joins nothing, if it joins not hearts. Marriage was never meant for coats of arms. Heraldry flourishes on metal, silk, Or wood. Examine as you will the blood, No painting on't is there ! — as red, as warm, The peasant's as the noble's !...
Page 88 - No telling how love thrives ! to what it comes ! Whence grows ! ""Tis e^en of as mysterious root, As the pine that makes its lodging of the rock ; Yet there it lives, a huge tree, flourishing, Where you would think a blade of grass would die ! What is love's poison, if it be not hate ? Yet in that poison, oft is found love's food. Frowns that are clouds to us, are sun to him ! He finds a music in a scornful tongue, That melts him more than softest melodyPassion perverting all things to its mood.
Page 112 - Duke. As thou wishest death, I will not kill thee for thy disobedience. An hour I grant for calm reflection. Use it. If, on the lapse of that brief space, I find The page without addition, thou may'st learn That even slavery hath its degrees, Which make it sometimes sweet. Our felons throng The galleys; but 'tis hard or we shall find A bench and oar for thee.
Page 93 - Countess. They are no portion of his excellence ; It is his own ! 'Tis not by them he makes His ample wheel ; mounts up, and up, and up In spiry rings, piercing the firmament, Till he o'ertops his prey ; then gives his stoop More fleet and sure than ever arrow sped ! How nature fashion'd him for his bold trade ! Gave him his stars of eyes to range abroad, His wings of glorious spread to mow the air, And breast of might to use them ! I delight To fly my hawk. The hawk 'sa glorious bird ; Obedient—...

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