William Congreve

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American Book Company, 1912 - Всего страниц: 466
 

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Стр. 46 - And just abandoning the ungrateful stage : Unprofitably kept at Heaven's expense, I live a rent-charge on his providence. But you, whom every Muse and Grace adorn, Whom I foresee to better fortune born, Be kind to my remains ; and, oh defend, Against your judgment, your departed friend! Let not the insulting foe my fame pursue, But shade those laurels which descend to you : And take for tribute what these lines express ; You merit more, nor could my love do less.
Стр. 46 - That your least praise, is to be regular. Time, place and action may with pains be wrought, But genius must be born, and never can be taught. This is your portion, this your native store : Heaven, that but once was prodigal before, To Shakespeare gave as much ; she could not give him more. Maintain your post : that's all the fame you need ; For 'tis impossible you should proceed. Already I am worn with cares and age, And just abandoning th...
Стр. 44 - But what we gained in skill we lost in strength. Our builders were with want of genius curst ; The second temple was not like the first ; Till you, the best Vitruvius, come at length, Our beauties equal, but excel our strength.
Стр. 357 - Ah, madam, there was a time! — but let it be forgotten — I confess I have deservedly forfeited the high place I once held of sighing at your feet. Nay, kill me not, by turning from me in disdain.
Стр. 332 - Mirabell, don't let us be familiar or fond, nor kiss before folks, like my Lady Fadler and Sir Francis: nor go to Hyde Park together the first Sunday in a new chariot to provoke eyes and whispers, and then never to be seen there together again, as if we were proud of one another the first week, and ashamed of one another for ever after.
Стр. 390 - How reverend is the face of this tall pile, Whose ancient pillars rear their marble heads, To bear aloft its arched and ponderous roof, By its own weight made steadfast and immovable, Looking tranquillity. It strikes an awe And terror on my aching sight ; the tombs And monumental caves of death look cold, And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart.
Стр. 316 - Well, an illiterate man's my aversion; I wonder at the impudence of any illiterate man to offer to make love.
Стр. 328 - Daunted, no. that's not it, it is not so much for that — for if so be that I set on't, I'll do't. But only for the present, 'tis sufficient 'till further acquaintance, that's all — your servant. Mrs.
Стр. 280 - Tis no matter for that, his wit will excuse that. A wit should no more be sincere than a woman constant: one argues a decay of parts, as t'other of beauty.
Стр. 45 - That early promise this has more than paid. So bold, yet so judiciously you dare, That your least praise is to be regular. Time, place, and action may with pains be wrought, But genius must be born, and never can be taught.

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