The novels and romances of A.E. Bray, Volume 2

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Page 29 - element,' but the word is over-worn. \Exit. Vio. This fellow is wise enough to play the fool ; And to do that well craves a kind of wit : He must observe their mood on whom he jests, The quality of persons, and the time, And, like the haggard, check at every feather That comes before his eye. This is a practice As full of labour as a wise man's art : . , , For folly that he wisely shows is fit ; But wise men, folly-fall'n, quite taint their wit.
Page 77 - War, death, or sickness, did lay siege to it ; Making it momentary as a sound, Swift as a shadow, short as any dream ; Brief as the lightning in the collied night, That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth. And ere a man hath power to say, — Behold ! The jaws of darkness do devour it up : So quick bright things come to confusion.
Page 77 - Ah me! for aught that ever I could read. Could ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth: But, either it was different in blood; Her.
Page 323 - Hang out our banners on the outward walls ; The cry is still, " They come !" Our castle's strength Will laugh a siege to scorn : here let them lie, Till famine and the ague eat them up.
Page 308 - Geffrey's wife ; Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost : I am not mad ; — I would to heaven, I were For then, 'tis like I should forget myself...
Page 262 - There's nothing in this world can make me joy : Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale, Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man ; And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste, That it yields nought but shame and bitterness.
Page 1 - A KNIGHT ther was, and that a worthy man, That fro the time that he firste began To riden out, he loved chivalrie, Trouthe and honour, fredom and courtesie.
Page 181 - All places that the eye of heaven visits Are to a wise man ports and happy havens. Teach thy necessity to reason thus ; There is no virtue like necessity.
Page 278 - tis true. Look here, lago ; All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven : 'Tis gone. Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell ! Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne To tyrannous hate ! Swell, bosom, with thy fraught, For 'tis of aspics
Page 157 - Can such things be, And overcome us like a summer cloud, Without our special wonder...

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