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Página 375 - Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty: Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there.
Página 374 - We do it wrong, being so majestical, To offer it the show of violence ; 20 For it is, as the air, invulnerable, And our vain blows malicious mockery.
Página 466 - Lord, what is man, that thou hast such respect unto him : or the son of man, that thou so regardest him? 4 Man is like a thing of nought : his time passeth away like a shadow.
Página 301 - Tis madness to resist or blame The face of angry heaven's flame ; And if we would speak true, Much to the Man is due Who, from his private gardens, where He lived reserved and austere (As if his highest plot To plant the bergamot) Could by industrious valour climb To ruin the great work of time, And cast the Kingdoms old Into another mould.
Página 376 - I am lord of the fowl and the brute. 0 solitude ! where are the charms That sages have seen in thy face ? Better dwell in the midst of alarms, Than reign in this horrible place. 1 am out of humanity's reach, I must finish my journey alone, Never hear the sweet music of speech, — I start at the sound of my own.
Página 373 - For loyalty is still the same Whether it win or lose the game ; True as the dial to the sun, Although it be not shin'd upon.
Página 300 - Philomel her voice shall raise ? You violets that first appear, By your pure purple mantles known Like the proud virgins of the year, As if the spring were all your own ; What are you when the rose is blown ? So, when my mistress shall be seen In form and beauty of her mind, By virtue first, then choice, a Queen, Tell me, if she were not design'd Th...
Página 376 - Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer, Though the herd have fled from thce, thy home is still here; Here still is the smile, that no cloud can o'ercast, And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last.