طبعات أخرى - عرض جميع المقتطفات
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الصفحة 161 - And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.
الصفحة 19 - Though I am young, and cannot tell Either what death or love is well, Yet I have heard they both bear darts, And both do aim at human hearts ; And then again I have been told Love wounds with heat, as death with cold ; So that I fear they do but bring Extremes to touch and mean one thing.
الصفحة 163 - Yet is he nought but parting of the breath; Ne ought to see, but like a shade to weene, Unbodied, unsoul'd, unheard, unseene...
الصفحة 153 - Even all the nation of unfortunate And fatall birds about them flocked were, Such as by nature men abhorre and hate...
الصفحة 232 - The rites begin with spilling some of the caudle on the ground, by way of libation: on that every one takes a cake of oatmeal, upon which are raised nine square knobs, each dedicated to some particular being, the supposed preserver of their flocks...
الصفحة 238 - ... That lies too high for base contempt, Too low for envy's shot. My wishes are but few, All easy to fulfil, I make the limits of my power The bounds unto my will. I have no hopes but one, Which is of heavenly reign ; Effects attained, or not desired, All lower hopes refrain.
الصفحة 239 - I wrestle not with rage, While fury's flame doth burn ; It is in vain to stop the stream Until the tide doth turn. But when the flame is out, And ebbing wrath doth end, I turn a late enraged foe Into a quiet friend.
الصفحة 143 - Yet shewing, by their heapes, how great they were. But in their place doth now a third appeare, Fayre Venice, flower of the last worlds delight; And next to them in beauty draweth neare, But farre exceedes in policie of right.
الصفحة 241 - May never was the month of love For May is full of flowers, But rather April, wet by kind, For love is full of showers.
الصفحة 169 - Tis in your Hearts alone their Fame can live. Still as the Scenes of Life will shift away, The strong Impressions of their Art decay. Your Children cannot feel what you have known; They'll boast of Quins and Gibbers of their own: The greatest Glory of our happy few, Is to be felt, and be approv'd by you.