The British Essayists: Adventurer

Priekinis viršelis
J. Haddon, 1819
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34 psl. - Were I in England now, as once I was, and had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver. There would this monster make a man. Any strange beast there makes a man. When they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian.
194 psl. - tis fittest. Cor. How does my royal lord? How fares your majesty? Lear. You do me wrong, to take me out o' the grave. — Thou art a soul in bliss ; but I am bound Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears Do scald like molten lead.
135 psl. - You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, As full of grief as age; wretched in both! If it be you that stir these daughters...
149 psl. - Spit, fire ! spout, rain. Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters: I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness; I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children, You owe me no subscription : then let fall Your horrible pleasure; here I stand, your slave, A poor, infirm, weak and despised old man...
192 psl. - Thou must be patient; we came crying hither. Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air, We wawl, and cry: — I will preach to thee; mark me. Glo. Alack, alack the day ! Lear. When we are born, we cry, that we are come To this great stage of fools...
60 psl. - In the midst of the street of it and on either side of the river, was there the tree of life, which bare twelve manner of fruits, and yielded her fruit every month ; and the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations.
195 psl. - Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, And thou no breath at all ? Thou 'It come no more, Never, never, never, never, never ! Pray you, undo this button : thank you, sir.
135 psl. - Stain my man's cheeks! — No, you unnatural hags, I will have such revenges on you both That all the world shall, — I will do such things, — What they are yet, I know not; but they shall be The terrors of the earth. You think I'll weep; No, I'll not weep: — I have full cause of weeping; but this heart Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws Or ere I'll weep. — O fool, I shall go mad!
194 psl. - Pray, do not mock me: I am a very foolish fond old man, fourscore and upward, not an hour more nor less; and, to deal plainly, I fear I am not in my perfect mind.
134 psl. - If you do love old men, if your sweet sway Allow obedience, if yourselves are old, Make it your cause ; send down, and take my part...

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