Penny readings in prose and verse, selected and ed. by J.E. Carpenter, 第 5 巻

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109 ページ - But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we; Of many far wiser than we ; And neither the angels in heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE. For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE ; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE.
153 ページ - Julius bleed for justice' sake ? What villain touch'd his body, that did stab, And not for justice? What ! shall one of us, That struck the foremost man of all this world But for supporting robbers, shall we now Contaminate our fingers with base bribes, And sell the mighty space of our large honours For so much trash as may be grasped thus ? I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, Than such a Roman.
35 ページ - twas a pleasing fear, For I was as it were a child of thee, And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here.
154 ページ - I did send to you For certain sums of gold, which you denied me; — For I can raise no money by vile means : By heaven, I had rather coin my heart, And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash, By any indirection. I did send To you for gold to pay my legions, Which you denied me: Was that done like Cassius ? Should I have answer'd Caius Cassius so?
166 ページ - ... twere the mirror up to nature ; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure. Now, this overdone, or come tardy off, though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve ; the censure of which one must, in your allowance, o'erweigh a whole theatre of others.
155 ページ - O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb That carries anger as the flint bears fire ; Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark, And straight is cold again.
6 ページ - With Spanish yew so strong, Arrows a cloth-yard long, That like to serpents stung, Piercing the weather; None from his fellow starts, But playing manly parts, And like true English hearts, Stuck close together. When down their bows they threw, And forth their bilboes...

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