The Works of John Dryden: Dramatic works

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Paterson, 1883 - 468 pages

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Page 152 - Full fathom five thy father lies; Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : Hark! now I hear them, — ding-dong, bell.
Page 126 - t ; and teach me how To name the bigger light, and how the less, That burn by day and night : and then I lov'd thee, And show'd thee all the qualities o...
Page 127 - would it had been done ! Thou didst prevent me ; I had peopled else This isle with Calibans. Pro. Abhorred slave ; Which any print of goodness will not take, Being capable of all ill ! I pitied thee, Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour One thing or other : when thou didst not, savage, Know thine own meaning, but would'st gabble like A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes With words that made them known...
Page 422 - AH how sweet it is to love, Ah how gay is young desire ! And what pleasing pains we prove When we first approach love's fire! Pains of love be sweeter far Than all other pleasures are. Sighs, which are from lovers blown, Do but gently heave the heart: Ev'n the tears they shed alone Cure, like trickling balm, their smart.
Page 288 - Ah what a trembling I feel when I venture, Ah what a Trembling does usher my joy! When, with a Sigh, she accords me the blessing, And her Eyes twinkle 'twixt pleasure and pain; Ah what a joy 'tis, beyond all Expressing, Ah what a joy to hear, shall we again...
Page 100 - The Tempest, or the Enchanted Island. A Comedy. As it is now Acted at his Highness the Duke of York's Theatre.
Page 151 - Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands. Curtsied when you have, and kiss'd The wild waves whist," Foot it featly" here and there, And, sweet sprites, the burden bear.
Page 109 - Shakspeare's magic could not copied be ; Within that circle none durst walk but he.
Page 177 - How ty'd to her ? Ferd. To love none but her. Hip. But, Sir, I find it is against my Nature. I must love where I like, and I believe I may like all, All that are fair : come ! Bring me to this Woman, For I must have her.
Page 158 - And mine shall. Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling Of their afflictions ? and shall not myself, One of their kind, that relish all as sharply, Passion as they, be kindlier mov'd than thou art ? Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the quick.

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