Elements of Criticism: Volume I [-II].

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A. Millar, London; and A. Kincaid & J. Bell, Edinburgh., 1765
 

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第272页 - O, who can hold a fire in his hand, By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite, By bare imagination of a feast?
第496页 - Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form; Then, have I reason to be fond of grief ? Fare you well: had you such a loss as I, I could give better comfort than you do.
第146页 - Caesar carelessly but nod on him. He had a fever when he was in Spain, And when the fit was on him, I did mark How he did shake...
第66页 - If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle: I remember The first time ever Caesar put it on ; 'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent; That day he overcame the Nervii : — Look ! in this place, ran Cassius...
第269页 - But, I remember, when the fight was done, When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil, Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly...
第492页 - Can honour set to a leg? No. Or an arm? No. Or take away the grief of a wound ? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery then ? No. What is honour? A word. What is in that word, honour? What is that honour? Air. A trim reckoning ! — Who hath it? He that died o
第377页 - Hampton takes its name. Here Britain's statesmen oft the fall foredoom Of foreign tyrants and of nymphs at home; Here thou, great Anna! whom three realms obey, Dost sometimes counsel take— and sometimes tea. Hither the heroes and the nymphs resort, To taste awhile the pleasures of a court; In various talk th...
第146页 - We both have fed as well, and we can both Endure the winter's cold as well as he...
第126页 - Out upon her ! Thou torturest me, Tubal. It was my turquoise ; I had it of Leah, when I was a bachelor. I would not have given it for a wilderness of monkeys.
第66页 - O, now you weep; and, I perceive, you feel The dint of pity : these are gracious drops. Kind souls, what ! weep you, when you but behold Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look you here, Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors.

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