Bentley's Miscellany, Volume 2

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Charles Dickens, William Harrison Ainsworth, Albert Smith
Richard Bentley, 1837
 

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Page 554 - I am thane of Cawdor : If good, why do I yield to that suggestion Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair, And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, • Against the use of nature...
Page 463 - To plague the inventor; this even-handed justice Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice To our own lips.
Page 554 - My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man, that function Is smother'd in surmise; and nothing is, But what is not.
Page 602 - The times have been That, when the brains were out, the man would die, And there an end ; but now they rise again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our stools.
Page 67 - I'll believe thee. Rom. If my heart's dear love — Jul. Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night: It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be Ere one can say "It lightens.
Page 551 - Come, seeling night, Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day ; And with thy bloody and invisible hand Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond Which keeps me pale...
Page 272 - Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows, And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows; But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar. When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, The line too labours, and the words move slow: Not so, when swift Camilla scours the plain, Flies o'er the unbending corn, and skims along the main. Hear how Timotheus' varied lays surprise, And bid alternate passions fall and rise!
Page 554 - The Prince of Cumberland ! that is a step On which I must fall down, or else o'erleap, For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires ; Let not light see my black and deep desires : The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be, Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.
Page 378 - That hangs his head, and a' that! The coward slave, we pass him by, We dare be poor for a' that! For a' that, and a' that, Our toils obscure, and a' that; The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The Man's the gowd for a
Page 556 - Nought's had, all's spent, Where our desire is got without content : 'Tis safer to be that which we destroy Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.

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