Bentley's Miscellany, Volume 17

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Charles Dickens, William Harrison Ainsworth, Albert Smith
Richard Bentley, 1845 - English literature
 

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Page 626 - Come, let us go, while we are in our prime, And take the harmless folly of the time! We shall grow old apace, and die Before we know our liberty. Our life is short, and our days run As fast away as does the sun.
Page 626 - There's not a budding boy or girl this day, But is got up, and gone to bring in may. A deal of youth, ere this, is come Back, and with white-thorn laden home.
Page 380 - This figure, that thou here seest put, It was for gentle Shakespeare cut; Wherein the graver had a strife With Nature, to out-do the life : O could he but have drawn his wit As well in brass, as he hath hit His face ; the print would then surpass All that was ever writ in brass. But since he cannot, reader, look Not on his picture, but his book.
Page 388 - It is only the public situation which this gentleman holds which entitles me or induces me to say so much about him. He is a fly in amber, nobody cares about the fly : the only question is, How the Devil did it get there?
Page 382 - From the beginning of the century to the death of Lord Liverpool was an awful period for those who had the misfortune to entertain liberal opinions, and who were too honest to sell them for the ermine of the judge or the lawn of the prelate ; a long and hopeless career in your profession, — the chuckling grin of noodles, — the sarcastic leer of the genuine political rogue...
Page 72 - There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft. To take care of the life of poor Jack.
Page 626 - As if here were those cooler shades of love. Can such delights be in the street And open fields and we not see't ? Come, we'll abroad ; and let's obey The proclamation made for May: And sin no more, as we have done, by staying ; But, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying.
Page 394 - Railroad travelling," he observes, "is a delightful improvement of human life. Man is become a bird ; he can fly longer and quicker than a Solan goose. The mamma rushes sixty miles in two hours to the aching finger of her conjugating and declining grammar boy. The early Scotchman scratches himself in the morning mists of the north, and has his porridge in Piccadilly before the setting sun.
Page 625 - And sung their thankful hymns; 'tis sin, Nay, profanation to keep in, When as a thousand virgins on this day Spring, sooner than the lark, to fetch in May.
Page 626 - Come, my Corinna, come; and coming, mark How each field turns a street; each street a park Made green, and trimm'd with trees: see how Devotion gives each house a bough Or branch : Each porch, each door, ere this, An ark, a tabernacle is, Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove; As if here were those cooler shades of love.

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