The Original, Volume 1

Front Cover
Henry Renshaw, 1835
 

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Page 355 - See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek ! Jul.
Page 355 - tis not to me she speaks: Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
Page 328 - How small of all that human hearts endure, That part which laws or kings can cause or cure.
Page 29 - Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice, And could of men distinguish her election, She hath seal'd thee for herself: for thou hast been As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing ; A man, that fortune's buffets and rewards Hast ta'en with equal thanks...
Page 400 - This was the noblest Roman of them all: All the conspirators, save only he, Did that they did in envy of great Caesar; He, only, in a general honest thought, And common good to all, made one of them. His life was gentle; and the elements So mix'd in him, that Nature might stand up, And say to all the world, This was a man!
Page 326 - It ascends me into the brain ; dries me there all the foolish and dull and crudy vapours which environ it; makes it apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble, fiery, and delectable shapes; which delivered o'er to the voice, — the tongue, — which is the birth, becomes excellent wit.
Page 12 - But if any provide not for his own, and especially for those of his own house, he hath denied the faith, and is worse than an infidel.
Page 354 - Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid art far more fair than she...
Page 27 - LAERTES' head. And these few precepts in thy memory See thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue, Nor any unproportion'd thought his act. Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel; But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade.
Page 356 - O, speak again, bright angel ! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head, As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him, When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds And sails upon the bosom of the air.

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