Archiv für das Studium der neueren Sprachen und Literaturen, Volume 23

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Westermann, 1858 - Languages, Modern
Vols. for 1858- include "Sitzungen der Berliner Gesellschaft für das Studium der neueren Sprachen."
 

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Page 47 - Full little knowest thou, that hast not tried, What hell it is in suing long to bide ; To lose good days that might be better spent ; To waste long nights in pensive discontent; To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow ; To feed on hope ; to pine with fear and sorrow ; To have thy Prince's grace, yet want her peers...
Page 243 - Und glauben Sie, glauben Sie mir : wer über gewisse Dinge den Verstand nicht verliert, der hat keinen zu verlieren.
Page 57 - The painted flowres, the trees upshooting hye, The dales for shade, the hilles for breathing space, The trembling groves, the christall running by, And, that which all faire workes doth most aggrace, The art which all that wrought appeared in no place.
Page 59 - The Laurell, meed of mightie Conquerours And Poets sage ; the Firre that weepeth still : The Willow, worne of forlorne Paramours ; The Eugh, obedient to the benders will ; The Birch for shaftes ; the Sallow for the mill ; The Mirrhe sweete-bleeding in the bitter wound ; The warlike Beech ; the Ash for nothing ill ; The fruitful!
Page 57 - And in the midst of all a fountaine stood, Of richest substance that on Earth might bee, So pure and shiny that the silver flood Through every channell running one might see ; Most goodly it with curious ymageree Was...
Page 297 - All things that you should use to do me wrong Deny their office: only you do lack That mercy which fierce fire and iron extends, Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses. Hub. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eyes For all the treasure that thine uncle owes: Yet am I sworn and I did purpose, boy, With this same very iron to burn them out.
Page 241 - Zufall war es, daß der Prinz nicht daran gedacht, mich hier zu sprechen, und mich doch hier sprechen muß? Ein Zufall? - Glauben Sie mir, Marinelli: das Wort Zufall ist Gotteslästerung. Nichts unter der Sonne ist Zufall; - am wenigsten das, wovon die Absicht so klar in die Augen leuchtet.
Page 57 - Infinit streames continually did well Out of this fountaine, sweet and faire to see, The which into an ample laver fell, And shortly grew to so great quantitie, That like a litle lake it seemd to bee; Whose depth exceeded not three cubits...
Page 47 - To have thy asking, yet wait many years ; To fret thy soul with crosses and with cares ; To eat thy heart through comfortless despairs ; To fawn, to crouch, to wait, to ride, to run, To spend, to give, to want, to be undone.
Page 295 - To plague the inventor ; this even-handed justice Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice To our own lips.

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