Three Notelets on Shakespeare ...

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J. R. Smith, 1865 - 136 pages
 

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Page 27 - Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves, And ye that on the sands with printless foot Do chase the ebbing Neptune and do fly him When he comes back...
Page 120 - A quibble is the golden apple for which he will always turn aside from his career or stoop from his elevation. A quibble, poor and barren as it is, gave him such delight that he was content to purchase it by the sacrifice of reason, propriety, and truth. A quibble was to him the fatal Cleopatra for which he lost the world, and was content to lose it.
Page 93 - Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid : Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut, Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub, Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers. And in this state she gallops night by night Through lovers...
Page 133 - For honour travels in a strait so narrow, Where one but goes abreast: keep then the path; For emulation hath a thousand sons That one by one pursue: if you give way, Or hedge aside from the direct forthright, Like to an enter'd tide they all rush by And leave you hindmost: Or, like a gallant horse fall'n in first rank, Lie there for pavement to the abject rear, O'er-run and trampled on...
Page 92 - She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the forefinger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep : Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners...
Page 40 - Be not afeard ; the isle is full of noises, Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not. Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments Will hum about mine ears, and sometimes voices That, if I then had waked after long sleep, Will make me sleep again : and then, in dreaming, The clouds methought would open and show riches Ready to drop upon me, that, when I waked, I cried to dream again.
Page 108 - ild you! They say the owl was a baker's daughter. Lord! we know what we are, but know not what we may be.
Page 60 - I'd divide, And burn in many places ; on the topmast, The yards and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly, Then meet, and join. Jove's lightnings, the precursors O...
Page 134 - Is this the nature Whom passion could not shake? whose solid virtue The shot of accident, nor dart of chance. Could neither graze nor pierce?
Page 135 - Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, The royal banner, and all quality, Pride, pomp and circumstance of glorious war!

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