PoetryVicesimus Knox S. Walker, 1825 |
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Rezultatai 1–3 iš 76
62 psl.
... hope to win by ' t ? Love thyself last cherish those hearts that hate thee ; What sudden anger ' s this ? How have I Corruption wins not more than honesty . reap'd it ? He parted frowning from me , as if ruin Leap'd from his eyes : so ...
... hope to win by ' t ? Love thyself last cherish those hearts that hate thee ; What sudden anger ' s this ? How have I Corruption wins not more than honesty . reap'd it ? He parted frowning from me , as if ruin Leap'd from his eyes : so ...
126 psl.
... hope reward . Above the worthless trophies man can raise , She seeks not honor , wealth , nor airy praise , But with herself , herself the goddess pays . Thy very life may answer such an outrage . Per . Sweet lady , hear me . El . Quit ...
... hope reward . Above the worthless trophies man can raise , She seeks not honor , wealth , nor airy praise , But with herself , herself the goddess pays . Thy very life may answer such an outrage . Per . Sweet lady , hear me . El . Quit ...
342 psl.
... hope for this retreat . If Shakspeare's passion , or if Jonson's art , Can fire the fancy , or can warm the heart , That task be ours ; but if you damn their scenes , And heroes must give way to Harlequins , We too can have recourse to ...
... hope for this retreat . If Shakspeare's passion , or if Jonson's art , Can fire the fancy , or can warm the heart , That task be ours ; but if you damn their scenes , And heroes must give way to Harlequins , We too can have recourse to ...
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Ajax arms art thou bear beauty behold blood breast breath bright Brutus Cæsar call'd Cassius cheek Comus Cymbeline dead dear death Decius didst dost doth dread dream earth ev'ry eyes fair father fear fire flow'rs gentle give gods gold grace grief Hadad hand hast hath head hear heard heart heaven hell honor hour Iago king Lady light live look lord lov'd lyre Macb Macbeth Macd Marcian mind moon Muse nature ne'er never night noble nymph o'er Othello Pandarus peace pity poor pow'r pride prince Rome round seem'd SHAKSPEARE sight sleep smile soft Sonnet sorrow soul speak spide spirit stamp'd sweet sword tears tell thee thine things thou art thou hast thought thyself tongue twas Tybalt unto Vent vex'd virtue voice weep wind wretched youth