Blackwood's Magazine, Volumen 135

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W. Blackwood, 1884
 

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Página 749 - With a bare bodkin ? who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, The undiscover'd country from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of ? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all...
Página 450 - The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun. Is there any thing whereof it may be said, "See, this is new?" it hath been already of old time, which was before us.
Página 149 - Great men may jest with saints : 'tis wit in them ; But, in the less, foul profanation. Lucio. Thou'rt in the right, girl ; more o' that. Isab. That in the captain's but a choleric word Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy.
Página 743 - Or I shall live your epitaph to make, Or you survive when I in earth am rotten; From hence your memory death cannot take, Although in me each part will be forgotten. Your name from hence immortal life shall have, Though I, once gone, to all the world must die : The earth can yield me but a common grave, When you entomb'd in men's eyes shall lie.
Página 376 - And portance in my travel's history; Wherein of antres vast, and deserts idle, Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven, It was my hint to speak, — such was the process; And of the Cannibals that each other eat, The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads Do grow beneath their shoulders.
Página 255 - Yea, mine own familiar friend, in whom I trusted, which did eat of my bread, hath lifted up his heel against me.
Página 722 - Was it the proud full sail of his great verse, Bound for the prize of all too precious you, That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse, Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew...
Página 677 - And they waited for me as for the rain ; and they opened their mouth wide as for the latter rain.
Página 485 - And that it was great pity, so it was, This villanous salt-petre should be digged Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, Which many a good tall fellow had destroyed So cowardly ; and but for these vile guns, He would himself have been a soldier.
Página 52 - Even its praises must offend thee, Founded on another's woe: Though my many faults defaced me, Could no other arm be found, Than the one which once embraced me, To inflict a cureless wound?

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