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according action aisl alliteration appears become beginning Browne called cause century chapter character close complete connection considered contrast criticism death discussion edition English epical example expression Fable fact Faust feeling final French German give given hand important influence interest Italy king language later legend less letter lines literary literature London lyric Mandeville matter meaning mentioned murderer Nature nicht object original passage Pearl perhaps period play poem poet poetry political Prät present Printed Professor published question reason reference regard says seems statement suggested things thought tion translation true University University of Illinois verse volume whole writing
Page 409 - My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain.
Page 219 - My instep arch not only keeps the ache, It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round. I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend. And I keep hearing from the cellar bin The rumbling sound Of load on load of apples coming in. For I have had too much Of apple-picking: I am overtired Of the great harvest I myself desired. There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch, Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.
Page 2 - Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.
Page 409 - What do I fear? Myself? There's none else by. Richard loves Richard: that is, I am I. Is there a murderer here? No. Yes, I am. Then fly: what! from myself? Great reason why: Lest I revenge. What, myself upon myself? Alack, I love myself. Wherefore? For any good That I myself have done unto myself? O, no, alas! I rather hate myself For hateful deeds committed by myself.
Page 462 - And I find more bitter than death the woman whose heart is snares and nets, and her hands as bands : whoso pleaseth God shall escape from her; but the sinner shall be taken by her.
Page 409 - The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight. Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. What do I fear? myself? there's none else by: Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.
Page 360 - WITH fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread, — Stitch — stitch — stitch ! In poverty, hunger, and dirt; And still with a voice of dolorous pitch She sang the "Song of the Shirt!
Page 556 - O, what a fall was there, my countrymen! Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us. O, now you weep, and I perceive you feel The dint of pity; these are gracious drops. Kind souls, what! weep you when you but behold Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look you here, Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors.
Page 375 - ... the true business of the literary artist is to plait or weave his meaning, involving it around itself so that each sentence, by successive phrases, shall first come into a kind of knot, and then, after a moment of suspended meaning, solve and clear itself.