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61 psl. - Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage; Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; Let it pry through the portage of the head Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it As fearfully as doth a galled rock O'erhang and jutty his confounded base, Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
26 psl. - Thyself how wondrous then! Unspeakable, who sitt'st above these heavens To us invisible, or dimly seen In these Thy lowest works : yet these declare Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine. Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light, Angels ! for ye behold him, and with songs And choral symphonies, day without night, Circle his throne rejoicing : ye in heaven, On earth join all ye creatures to extol Him first, him last, him midst, and without end.
26 psl. - Fairest of stars, last in the train of night, If better thou belong not to the dawn, Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn With thy bright circlet, praise Him in thy sphere, While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.
56 psl. - They have their exits and their entrances ; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
65 psl. - This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under me; and now has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
26 psl. - Of Nature's womb, that in quaternion run Perpetual circle, multiform ; and mix And nourish all things ; let your ceaseless change Vary to our great Maker still new praise.
419 psl. - To the tent-royal of their ( emperor; Who, busied in his majesty, surveys The singing masons building roofs of gold, The civil citizens kneading up the honey, The poor mechanic porters crowding in Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate, The sad-eyed justice, with his surly hum, Delivering o'er to executors pale The lazy yawning drone.
65 psl. - Why, well; Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. I know myself now; and I feel within me A peace above all earthly dignities, A still and quiet conscience.
67 psl. - Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not ; Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's ; then, if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr.