The King's own

Forsideomslag
J.M. Dent, 1896
 

Indhold

Almindelige termer og sætninger

Populære passager

Side 410 - The waves of the sea are mighty, and rage horribly : but yet the Lord, who dwelleth on high, is mightier.
Side 119 - By the festal cities' blaze, Whilst the wine-cup shines in light; And yet amidst that joy and uproar Let us think of them that sleep, Full many a fathom deep, By thy wild and stormy steep, Elsinore. Brave hearts ! to Britain's pride Once so faithful and so true, On the deck of fame that died, With the gallant good Riou : Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave ; While the billow mournful rolls, And the mermaid's song condoles, Singing glory to the souls Of the brave.
Side 325 - All beasts of the earth, since wild, and of all chase In wood or wilderness, forest or den: Sporting the lion...
Side 410 - Full fathom five thy father lies, Of his bones are coral made : Those are pearls that were his eyes, Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea change, Into something rich and strange.
Side 426 - AY me ! what perils do environ The man that meddles with cold iron ! What plaguy mischiefs and mishaps Do dog him still with after-claps...
Side 337 - Sparta: never did I hear Such gallant chiding; for, besides the groves, The skies, the fountains, every region near Seem'd all one mutual cry: I never heard So musical a discord, such sweet thunder.
Side 313 - First Moloch, horrid king besmeared with blood Of human sacrifice, and parents' tears, Though for the noise of drums and timbrels loud Their children's cries unheard, that passed through fire To his grim idol.
Side 200 - A mind well skill'd to find or forge a fault ; A turn for punning, call it Attic salt ; To Jeffrey go, be silent and discreet, His pay is just ten sterling pounds per sheet. Fear not to lie, 'twill seem a lucky hit ; Shrink not from blasphemy, 'twill pass for wit ; Care not for feeling — pass your proper jest, And stand a critic, hated yet caress'd.
Side 200 - A mind well skill'd to find or forge a fault; A turn for punning, call it Attic salt; To Jeffrey go, be silent and discreet, His pay is just ten sterling pounds per sheet : Fear not to lie, 'twill seem a sharper hit; Shrink not from blasphemy, 'twill pass for wit; Care not for feeling — pass your proper jest, And stand a critic, hated yet caress'd.
Side 71 - Through tattered clothes small vices do appear; Robes and furred gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold, And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks: Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw does pierce it.

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