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Page 828 - Now welcome, Night! thou night so long expected, That long daies labour doest at last defray, And all my cares, which cruell Love collected, Hast sumd in one, and cancelled for aye. Spread thy broad wing over my Love and me, That no man may us see; And in thy sable mantle us enwrap, From feare of perrill and foule horror free.
Page 828 - Doe burne, that to us wretched earthly clods In dreadful darknesse lend desired light...
Page 284 - This fortress, built by nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war ; This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall, Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands ; This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England...
Page 625 - I hold the Fates bound fast in iron chains, And with my hand turn Fortune's wheel about, And sooner shall the sun fall from his sphere Than Tamburlaine be slain or overcome.
Page 627 - Thirsting with sovereignty and love of arms; His lofty brows in folds do figure death, And in their smoothness amity and life; About them hangs a knot of amber hair, Wrapped in curls, as fierce Achilles' was, On which the breath of Heaven delights to play, Making it dance with wanton majesty.
Page 318 - Did throng the seats, the boxes, and the stage ; So much, that some by Stenography drew The plot, put it in print, (scarce one word true...
Page 293 - Another, whom it hath pleased nature to furnish with more beard than brain, prunes his mustaccio, lisps, and, with some score of affected oaths, swears down all that sit about him ; " That the old Hieronimo, as it was first acted, was the only best, and judiciously penned play of Europe.
Page 284 - This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise; This fortress, built by nature for herself, Against infection, and the hand of war; This happy breed of men, this little world ; This precious stone set in the silver sea...
Page 761 - London to my exil'd eyes Is as Elysium to a new-come soul ; Not that I love the city, or the men, But that it harbours him I hold so dear, The king, upon whose bosom let me lie, And with the world be still at enmity.
Page 270 - Diuines and dying men may talke of hell, But in my heart, her seueral tormentes dwell.

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