Transactions of the Royal Society of Literature of the United Kingdom

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Page 299 - Haterius. His wit was in his own power, would the rule of it had been so too. Many times he fell into those things, could not escape laughter : as when he said in the person of Caesar, one speaking to him,
Page 297 - ... who, as he was a happie imitator of Nature, was a most gentle expresser of it. His mind and hand went together; and what he thought, he uttered with that easinesse that wee have scarse received from him a blot in his papers.
Page 295 - Yes, trust them not ! for there is an upstart crow, beautified with our feathers, that with his " Tiger's heart wrapped in a player's hide," supposes he is as well able to bombast out a blank verse as the best of you ; and, being an absolute Johannes Factotum, is, in his own conceit, the only Shake-scene in a country.
Page 413 - It ceased ; yet still the sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, — A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune.
Page 295 - Base minded men all three of you, if by my misery ye be not warned: for unto none of you, like me, sought those burrs to cleave: those puppets, I mean, that speak from our mouths, those antics garnished in our colours.
Page 293 - The love I dedicate to your Lordship is without end; whereof this pamphlet without beginning is but a superfluous moiety. The warrant I have of your Honourable disposition, not the worth of my untutored lines, makes it assured of acceptance. What I have done is yours, what I have to do is yours, being part in all I have devoted yours.
Page 299 - I loved the man, and do honour his memory on this side idolatry, as much as any. He was (indeed) honest, and of an open and free nature...
Page 290 - And because the breath of flowers is far sweeter in the air (where it comes and goes like the warbling of music) than in the hand, therefore nothing is more fit for that delight, than to know what be the flowers and plants that do best perfume the air.
Page 290 - If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it: that surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again, it had a dying fall: O, it came o'er my ear, like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets; Stealing and giving odour.
Page 52 - Are brought ; and feel by turns the bitter change Of fierce extremes, extremes by change more fierce, From beds of raging fire to starve in ice...

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