Tremaine: Or, The Man of Refinement, Volum 3

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H. Colburn, 1825 - 380 sider
 

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Side 303 - My words fly up, my thoughts remain below : Words, without thoughts, never to heaven go.
Side 335 - Imagine howling ! —'tis too horrible ! The weariest and most loathed worldly life, That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment Can lay on nature, is a paradise To what we fear of death.
Side 290 - These things hast thou done, and I kept silence ; Thou thoughtest that I was altogether such an one as thyself : But I will reprove thee, and set them in order before thine eyes.
Side 156 - Their sound is gone out into all lands : and their words unto the ends of the world.
Side 283 - Besides, this Duncan Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking off...
Side 320 - Ask the faithful youth Why the cold urn of her whom long he lov'd So often fills his arms ; so often draws His lonely footsteps at the silent hour, To pay the mournful tribute of his tears? Oh ! he will tell thee, that the wealth of worlds Should ne'er seduce his bosom to forego That sacred hour...
Side 283 - He's here in double trust; First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, Strong both against the deed; then, as his host, Who should against his murderer shut the door, Not bear the knife myself.
Side 341 - Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any man in all Venice. His reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff : you shall seek all day ere you find them, and when you have them, they are not worth the search.
Side 49 - Whither shall I go then from thy Spirit? or whither shall I go then from thy presence ? If I climb up into heaven, thou art there ; if I go down to hell, thou art there also.
Side 373 - Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows While proudly riding o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes; Youth on the prow, and pleasure at the helm; Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening prey.

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