The Metropolitan, Volym 52

Framsida
James Cochrane, 1848

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Sida 354 - DUKE'S PALACE. [Enter DUKE, CURIO, LORDS; MUSICIANS attending.] DUKE. If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken and so die.— That strain again;— it had a dying fall; O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour.— Enough; no more; 'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
Sida 164 - Why have my sisters husbands, if they say They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed, That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry Half my love with him, half my care and duty. Sure I shall never marry like my sisters, To love my father all.
Sida 171 - O my dear father ! Restoration, hang Thy medicine on my lips ; and let this kiss Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters Have in thy reverence made ! Kent.
Sida 172 - Lear. Be your tears wet ? yes, faith. I pray, weep not : If you have poison for me I will drink it. I know you do not love me ; for your sisters Have, as I do remember, done me wrong : You have some cause, they have not. Cor. No cause, no cause.
Sida 303 - There, in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes on the chimneys, Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps, and in kirtles Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the golden Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors Mingled their sound with the whir of the wheels and the songs of the maidens.
Sida 304 - Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their windows; But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of the owners; There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abundance.
Sida 307 - What is this that ye do, my children? what madness has seized you? Forty years of my life have I labored among you, and taught you, Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one another ! Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and prayers and privations?
Sida 345 - Be not afeard ; the isle is full of noises, Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not. Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments Will hum about mine ears, and sometimes voices That, if I then had waked after long sleep, Will make me sleep again : and then, in dreaming, The clouds methought would open and show riches Ready to drop upon me, that, when I waked, I cried to dream again.
Sida 303 - Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward, Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without number.
Sida 173 - Her voice was ever soft, Gentle, and low, — an excellent thing in woman.

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