Shakespeare's Comedy of Love's Labour's Lost

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Harper & brothers, 1882 - 173 Seiten

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Seite 31 - Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that are bred in a book ; he hath not eat paper, as it were ; he hath not drunk ink : his intellect is not replenished ; he is only an animal, only sensible in the duller parts...
Seite 121 - A jest's prosperity lies in the ear Of him that hears it, never in the tongue Of him that makes it...
Seite 123 - Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow And coughing drowns the parson's saw And birds sit brooding in the snow And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-whit; Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
Seite 40 - Ay, that there is : our court you know is haunted With a refined traveller of Spain ; A man in all the world's new fashion planted, That hath a mint of phrases in his brain : One whom the music of his own vain tongue Doth ravish, like enchanting harmony...
Seite 87 - And gives to every power a double power, Above their functions and their offices. It adds a precious seeing to the eye ; A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind ; A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound, When the suspicious head of theft is stopp'd ; Love's feeling is more soft and sensible, Than are the tender horns of cockled* snails...
Seite 35 - The endeavour of this present breath may buy That honour, which shall bate his scythe's keen edge, And make us heirs of all eternity.
Seite 52 - Biron they call him; but a merrier man, Within the limit of becoming mirth, I never spent an hour's talk withal : His eye begets occasion for his wit; For every object that the one doth catch, The other turns to a mirth-moving jest ; Which his fair tongue (conceit's expositor,) Delivers in such apt and gracious words, That aged ears play truant at his tales, And younger hearings are quite ravished ; So sweet and voluble is his discourse.
Seite 122 - When daisies pied and violets blue And lady-smocks all silver-white And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with delight, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men ; for thus sings he, Cuckoo ; Cuckoo, cuckoo...
Seite 87 - Subtle as Sphinx ? as sweet, and musical, As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair ? And when Love speaks, the voice of all the gods Makes Heaven drowsy with the harmony. Never durst poet touch a pen to write, Until his ink were temper'd with love's sighs ; O ! then his lines would ravish savage ears, And plant in tyrants mild humility. From women's eyes this doctrine I derive : They sparkle still the right Promethean fire ; They are the books, the arts, the Academes, That shew, contain, and...
Seite 167 - Directly to his good? Divinity of hell! When devils will the blackest sins put on, They do suggest at first with heavenly shows...

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