God's me, my horse!
_King Henry IV., Pt. I. Act ii. Sc. 3_. SHAKESPEARE.
Never be it said
That Fate itself could awe the soul of Richard.
Hence, babbling dreams; you threaten here in vain;
Conscience, avaunt, Richard's himself again!
Hark! the shrill trumpet sounds. To horse! away!
My soul's in arms, and eager for the fray.
_Shakespeare's Richard III. (Altered), Act. v. Sc. 3_. C. GIBBER.
BEAUTY.
Is she not passing fair?
_Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act iv. Sc. 4_. SHAKESPEARE.
And she is fair, and fairer than that word.
_Merchant of Venice, Act i. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.
_As You Like It, Act i. Sc. 3_. SHAKESPEARE.
Old as I am, for ladies' love unfit,
The power of beauty I remember yet.
_Cymon and Iphigenia_. J. DRYDEN.
Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear.
_Romeo and Juliet, Act i. Sc. 5_. SHAKESPEARE.
A rosebud set with little wilful thorns.
And sweet as English air could make her, she.
_The Princess_. A. TENNYSON.
Thou who hast
The fatal gift of beauty.
_Childe Harold, Canto IV_. LORD BYRON.
Yet I'll not shed her blood;
Nor soar that whiter skin of hers than snow,
And smooth as monumental alabaster.
Pages:
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88