Lectures chiefly on the dramatic literature of the age of ElizabethJ.B. Lippincott, 1821 - 218 من الصفحات |
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الصفحة 3
... lights ; or were swallowed up in the headlong torrent of puri- tanic zeal which succeeded , and swept away every thing in its unsparing course , throwing up the wrecks of taste and genius at random , and at long fitful intervals ...
... lights ; or were swallowed up in the headlong torrent of puri- tanic zeal which succeeded , and swept away every thing in its unsparing course , throwing up the wrecks of taste and genius at random , and at long fitful intervals ...
الصفحة 5
... light " glimmering on the confines of Chaos and old night ; new manners rise , and all the cumbrous " pomp of elder days ” vanishes , and is lost in worse than Gothic darkness . Pavilioned in the glittering pride of our superficial ...
... light " glimmering on the confines of Chaos and old night ; new manners rise , and all the cumbrous " pomp of elder days ” vanishes , and is lost in worse than Gothic darkness . Pavilioned in the glittering pride of our superficial ...
الصفحة 6
... light of our unexpected discoveries , and the noise we made about them . Strange error of our infatuated self - love ! Because the clothes we remember to have seen worn when we were children , are now out of fashion , and our grand ...
... light of our unexpected discoveries , and the noise we made about them . Strange error of our infatuated self - love ! Because the clothes we remember to have seen worn when we were children , are now out of fashion , and our grand ...
الصفحة 12
... light , as a sort of monster of poetical genius , or on his contemporaries as " less than smallest dwarfs , " when he speaks with true , not false modesty , of himself and them , and of his wayward thoughts , " desiring this man's art ...
... light , as a sort of monster of poetical genius , or on his contemporaries as " less than smallest dwarfs , " when he speaks with true , not false modesty , of himself and them , and of his wayward thoughts , " desiring this man's art ...
الصفحة 39
William Hazlitt. webs , and " shedding a faint shadow of uncer- tain light , " Such as a lamp whose light doth fade away , Or as the moon clothed with cloudy night Doth shew to him that walks in fear and sad affright . " The dramatic ...
William Hazlitt. webs , and " shedding a faint shadow of uncer- tain light , " Such as a lamp whose light doth fade away , Or as the moon clothed with cloudy night Doth shew to him that walks in fear and sad affright . " The dramatic ...
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admiration Æschylus affected age of Elizabeth Beaumont and Fletcher beauty Ben Jonson Boccacio breath character classical comedy common-place Cynthia's Revels D'Ol dead death Deckar delight doth dramatic Duchess of Malfy Duke Endymion Eumenides extravagant eyes faith fancy fate feeling fire flowers friends genius give grace hand hath head heart heaven Hodge honour human Hydriotaphia imagination imitation Jeremy Taylor Jonson kings kiss learning live look Lord Lover's Melancholy manner Michael Drayton mind moral Muse nature never Noble Kinsmen objects passage passion Petrarch play poet poetical poetry pride quincunxes racter Rhod romantic says scene Sejanus sense sentiment Shakespear shew Sir Rad Sir Thomas Brown Sophocles sort soul speak spirit striking style sweet taste thee there's thing thou thought tion tragedy true truth unto Witches woman words writers
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الصفحة 27 - Your face, my thane, is as a book, where men May read strange matters : — To beguile the time, Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under it.
الصفحة 254 - But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near: And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity. Thy beauty shall no more be found; Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound My echoing song: then worms shall try That long preserved virginity: And your quaint honour turn to dust; And into ashes all my lust. The grave's a fine and private place, But none I think do there embrace.
الصفحة 298 - But the sufficiency of Christian immortality frustrates all earthly glory, and the quality of either state after death makes a folly of posthumous memory. God who can only destroy our souls, and hath assured our resurrection, either of our bodies or names hath directly promised no duration. Wherein there is so much of chance, that the boldest expectants have found unhappy frustration ; and to hold long subsistence, seems but a scape in oblivion. But man is a noble animal, splendid in ashes, and pompous...
الصفحة 222 - HENCE, all you vain delights, As short as are the nights Wherein you spend your folly ! There's nought in this life sweet, If man were wise to see't, But only melancholy ; Oh ! sweetest melancholy.
الصفحة 253 - Had we but world enough, and time, This coyness, lady, were no crime. We would sit down and think which way To walk, and pass our long love's day; Thou by the Indian Ganges' side Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide Of Humber would complain. I would Love you ten years before the Flood; And you should, if you please, refuse Till the conversion of the Jews.
الصفحة 294 - ... to subsist in bones, and be but pyramidally extant, is a fallacy in duration. Vain ashes, which, in the oblivion of names, persons, times, and sexes, have found unto themselves a fruitless continuation, and only arise unto late posterity as emblems of mortal vanities, antidotes against pride, vainglory, and madding vices!
الصفحة 257 - Looks through the horizontal misty air Shorn of his beams; or from behind the moon, In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds On half the nations, and with fear of change Perplexes monarchs.
الصفحة 53 - At cards for kisses — Cupid paid; He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows, His mother's doves, and team of sparrows; Loses them too; then down he throws The coral of his lip, the rose Growing on's cheek (but none knows how), With these, the crystal of his brow, And then the dimple of his chin; All these did my Campaspe win. At last he set her both his eyes, She won, and Cupid blind did rise. O Love! has she done this to thee? What shall, alas! become of me? THE SONGS OF BIRDS What bird so sings, yet...
الصفحة 224 - Like to the falling of a star; Or as the flights of eagles are; Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue; Or silver drops of morning dew; Or like a wind that chafes the flood; Or bubbles which on water stood; Even such is man, whose borrowed light Is straight called in, and paid to night. The wind blows out; the bubble dies; The spring entombed in autumn lies; The dew dries up; the star is shot; The flight is past; and man forgot.
الصفحة 59 - Her lips suck forth my soul! See where it flies; Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again. Here will I dwell, for heaven is in these lips, And all is dross that is not Helena.