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Anatomy of Melancholy angels BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER beauty better blessed Book breath Cæsar Canto Chap Chaucer Childe Harold's Pilgrimage dark dead dear death deed Devil DIOGENES LAERTIUS divine Don Quixote doth dream Dryden earth Epistle fair fear flower fool Frag give glory grave hand happy hast hath heart heaven Henry Heywood honour hope Hudibras Ibid JOHN Julius Cæsar King Lady light Line live look Lord man's Maxim melancholy mind morning Nature ne'er never night numbers o'er peace pleasure PLUTARCH poet Pope proverb PUBLIUS SYRUS Richard III rose Sect Shakespeare sing sleep smile song Sonnet sorrow soul Speech spirit Stanza stars sweet tears thee Themistocles There's thine things THOMAS THOMAS HEYWOOD thou art thought tongue truth unto viii virtue wind wise woman words young youth
Page 315 - Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, As, to be hated, needs but to be seen; Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace.
Page 298 - Soon as the evening shades prevail, The moon takes up the wondrous tale, And nightly to the listening earth Repeats the story of her birth; While all the stars that round her burn, And all the planets in their turn, Confirm the tidings, as they roll, And spread the truth from pole to pole.
Page 83 - Out of my grief and my impatience, Answer'd neglectingly I know not what, He should, or he should not; for he made me mad To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman Of guns and drums and wounds,— God save the mark!— And telling me the sovereign'st thing on earth Was parmaceti for an inward bruise; And that it was great pity, so it was, This villanous salt-petre should be digg'd Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, Which many a good tall fellow had...
Page 623 - And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, And the sound of a voice that is still ! Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me.
Page 381 - Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows, While proudly riding o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes; Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm; Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening prey.
Page 155 - The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burn'd on the water: the poop was beaten gold; Purple the sails, and so perfumed that The winds were love-sick with them...
Page 464 - Nor less I deem that there are Powers Which of themselves our minds impress; That we can feed this mind of ours In a wise passiveness.
Page 249 - The Oracles are dumb ; No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance, or breathed spell, Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
Page 94 - Thou hast most traitorously corrupted the youth of the realm in erecting a grammar-school : and whereas, before, our forefathers had no other books but the score and the tally, thou hast caused printing to be used ; and, contrary to the king, his crown, and dignity, thou hast built a paper-mill.
Page 231 - With thee conversing, I forget all time; All seasons, and their change, all please alike. Sweet is the breath of Morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds : pleasant the sun, When first on this delightful land he spreads His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower...