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الصفحة 541 - Farewell ! a long farewell, to all my greatness ! This is the state of man : to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him . The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, And, — when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a-ripening, — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do.
الصفحة 351 - Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front; And now, — instead of mounting barbed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, — He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
الصفحة 448 - For hateful deeds committed by myself ! 1 am a villain : yet, I lie, I am not. Fool ! of thyself speak well ; fool ! do not flatter ! My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain. Perjury, perjury in the highest degree, Murder, stern murder in the direst degree, All several sins, all used in each degree, Throng to the bar, crying all, Guilty ! guilty ! I shall despair.
الصفحة 373 - I have pass'da miserable night, So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights, That, as I am a Christian faithful man, I would not spend another such a night, Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days, — So full of dismal terror was the time.
الصفحة 543 - Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries ; but thou hast forc'd me, Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. Let's dry our eyes ; and thus far hear me, Cromwell, And — when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me more must be heard of, — say, I taught thee ; Say, Wolsey, — that once trod the ways of glory, And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour...
الصفحة 448 - Give me another horse! bind up my wounds! Have mercy, Jesu! Soft! I did but dream. O! coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me. 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.
الصفحة 525 - em, if thou canst : leave working. SONG. 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. Every thing 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.
الصفحة 266 - To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery? O, yes it doth ; a thousand-fold it doth. And to conclude, — the shepherd's homely curds. His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle, His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, Is far beyond a prince's...
الصفحة 265 - Would I were dead ! if God's good will were so } For what is in this world but grief and woe? 0 God ! methinks it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain ; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run ; — How many make the hour full complete ; How many hours bring about the day ; How many days will finish up the year ; How many years a mortal man may live. When this is known, then to divide the times, — So...