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Página 250 - WHAT needs my Shakespeare, for his honour'd bones, The labour of an age in piled stones? Or that his hallow'd relics should be hid Under a star-ypointing pyramid? Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name? Thou, in our wonder and astonishment, Hast built thyself a livelong monument. For whilst, to the shame of slow-endeavouring art, Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart • Hath, from the leaves of thy unvalued book, Those Delphic lines with deep...
Página 594 - Adam Drummond, of amiable memory, who was gifted by nature with the most sonorous, and at the same time, the most contagious laugh that ever echoed from the human lungs. The neighing of the horse of the son of Hystaspes was a whisper to it ; the whole thunder of the theatre could not drown it.
Página 251 - For whilst, to the shame of slow-endeavouring art, Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart Hath, from the leaves of thy unvalued book, Those Delphic lines with deep impression took; Then thou, our fancy of itself bereaving, Dost make us marble, with too much conceiving; And, so sepulchred, in such pomp dost lie, That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.
Página 207 - Twas there you'd see the New Polishemen Making a skrimmage at half after four, And the Lords and Ladies, and the Miss O'Gradys, All standing round before the Abbey door.
Página 254 - The exercise which I commend first is the exact use of their weapon, to guard; and to strike safely with edge or point. This will- keep them healthy, nimble, strong, and well in breath; is also the likeliest means to make them grow large and tall, and to inspire them with a gallant and fearless courage...
Página 414 - Dreams, books, are each a world ; and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good : Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow.
Página 250 - AN EPITAPH ON THE ADMIRABLE DRAMATIC POET, W. SHAKESPEARE. WHAT needs my Shakespeare, for his honour'd bones, The labour of an age in piled stones? Or that his hallow'd relics should be hid Under a star-ypointing pyramid?
Página 250 - HERE lies old Hobson. Death hath broke his girt, And here, alas! hath laid him in the dirt; Or else, the ways being foul, twenty to one He's here stuck in a slough, and overthrown.
Página 511 - Now the Squire lifts his hand With an air of command. And gives them a sign, which they all understand, To bring in the culprit; and straightway the carter And huntsman drag in that unfortunate martyr, Still kicking, and crying, 'Come, — what are you alter?
Página 594 - In the mean time, my friend followed signals with a rattle so irresistibly comic that, when he had repeated it several times, the attention of the spectators was so engrossed by his person and performances, that the progress of the play seemed likely to become a secondary object, and I found it prudent to insinuate to him that he might halt his music without any prejudice to- the author ; but alas ! it was now too late to rein him in ; he had laughed upon my signal where he found no joke, and now,...