Notes and Queries

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Oxford University Press, 1903 - Electronic journals
 

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Page 263 - JUSTUM et tenacem propositi virum Non civium ardor prava jubentium, Non vultus instantis tyranni Mente quatit solida, neque Auster, Dux inquieti turbidus Adriae, 5 Nee fulminantis magna manus Jovis : Si fractus illabatur orbis, * Impavidum ferient ruinae.
Page 163 - 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 64 - He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument.
Page 336 - Shakespeare; and however others are now generally preferred before him, yet the age wherein he lived, which had contemporaries with him, Fletcher and Jonson, never equalled them to him in their esteem: and in the last king's court, when Ben's reputation was at highest, Sir John Suckling, and with him the greater part of the courtiers, set our Shakespeare far above him.
Page 305 - A jest's prosperity lies in the ear • Of him that hears it, never in the tongue Of him that makes it : then, if sickly ears, Deaf 'd with the clamours of their own dear groans.
Page 325 - The Most High and Mightie Prince, James, by the Grace of God, King of Great Britaine, France and Ireland, Defender of the Faith.
Page 336 - But he is always great when some great occasion is presented to him. No man can say he ever had a fit subject for his wit and did not then raise himself as high above the rest of poets, Quantum lenta solent inter viburna cupressi.
Page 336 - Jonson's: the reason is because there is a certain gaiety in their comedies, and pathos in their more serious plays which suits generally with all men's humours. Shakespeare's language is likewise a little obsolete, and Ben Jonson's wit comes short of theirs.
Page 405 - As slow our ship her foamy track Against the wind was cleaving, Her trembling pennant still look'd back To that dear isle 'twas leaving. So loath we part from all we love, From all the links that bind us ; So turn our hearts as on we rove, To those we've left behind us.
Page 163 - When beggars die there are no comets seen ; The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.

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