Cymbeline. The winter's tale

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Harper & brothers, 1884
 

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Page 100 - Yet nature is made better by no mean, But nature makes that mean : so, o'er that art Which, you say, adds to nature, is an art That nature makes.
Page 101 - O Proserpina, For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou let'st fall From Dis's waggon! daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty ; violets, dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes, Or Cytherea's breath ; pale primroses, That die unmarried, ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength, a malady Most incident to maids; bold oxlips, and The crown-imperial ; lilies of all kinds, The flower-de-luce being one ! O, these I lack.
Page 71 - Hark, hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies ; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes : With every thing that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise : Arise, arise.
Page 208 - The female fays shall haunt the green, And dress thy grave with pearly dew. The redbreast oft at evening hours Shall kindly lend his little aid, With hoary moss and gathered flowers To deck the ground where thou art laid.
Page 20 - I'd have you do it ever : when you sing, I'd have you buy and sell so ; so give alms ; Pray so ; and, for the ordering your affairs, To sing them too : When you do dance, I wish you A wave o...
Page 187 - Come, come, and sit you down ; you shall not budge ; You go not till I set you up a glass Where you may see the inmost part of you.
Page 173 - Dangerous conceits are in their natures poisons, Which at the first are scarce found to distaste, But with a little act upon the blood, Burn like the mines of sulphur.
Page 36 - Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie Without a monument !) bring thee all this ; Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none, To winter-ground thy corse.
Page 102 - This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever Ran on the green-sward : nothing she does or seems But smacks of something greater than herself, Too noble for this place.
Page 100 - By bud of nobler race : this is an art Which does mend nature, change it rather, but The art itself is nature.

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