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第 150 頁 - That man is little to be envied, whose patriotism would not gain force upon the plain of Marathon, or whose piety would not grow • warmer among the ruins of lona.
第 201 頁 - Shall I make spirits fetch me what I please, Resolve me of all ambiguities, Perform what desperate enterprise I will? I'll have them fly to India for gold, Ransack the ocean for orient pearl, And search all corners of the new-found world For pleasant fruits and princely delicates ; I'll have them read me strange philosophy And tell the secrets of all foreign kings...
第 198 頁 - Marlowe's king moves pity and terror beyond any scene, ancient or modern, with which I am acquainted.
第 402 頁 - The time is out of joint : — 0 cursed spite, That ever I was born to set it right!
第 202 頁 - I'll leap up to my God! Who pulls me down? See, see where Christ's blood streams in the firmament! One drop would save my soul, half a drop, ah, my Christ!
第 195 頁 - Of those fierce darts, Despair at me doth throw; 0 make in me those civil wars to cease : 1 will good tribute pay, if thou do so. Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed ; A chamber, deaf to noise, and blind to light; A rosy garland, and a weary head. And if these things, as being thine by right, Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me Livelier than elsewhere Stella's image see.
第 197 頁 - Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed In one self place ; for where we are is hell, And where hell is there must we ever be: And, to conclude, when all the world dissolves, And every creature shall be purified, All places shall be hell that is not heaven.
第 201 頁 - All things that move between the quiet poles Shall be at my command : emperors and kings Are but obeyed in their several provinces, Nor can they raise the wind or rend the clouds ; But his dominion that exceeds in this Stretcheth as far as doth the mind of man, A sound magician is a mighty god : Here, Faustus, tire thy brains to gain a deity.
第 197 頁 - Our souls, whose faculties can comprehend The wondrous architecture of the world, And measure every wandering planet's course, Still climbing after knowledge infinite, And always moving as the restless spheres, Wills us to wear ourselves, and never rest, Until we reach the ripest fruit of all, That perfect bliss and sole felicity, The sweet fruition of an earthly crown.