Tales of an Antiquary: Chiefly Illustrative of the Manners, Traditions, and Remarkable Localities of Ancient London, Volume 1

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H. Colburn, 1828 - English essays - 1106 pages

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Page 58 - The immortal mind, that hath forsook Her mansion in this fleshly nook : And of those demons that are found In fire, air, flood, or under ground, Whose power hath a true consent With planet, or with element. Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy In sceptred pall come sweeping by, Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine ; Or what (though rare) of later age Ennobled hath the buskin'd stage.
Page 269 - By and by we hear news of shipwreck in the same place, and then we are to blame if we accept it not for a rock. Upon the back of that comes out a hideous monster with fire and smoke, and then the miserable beholders are bound to take it for a cave. While in the mean time two armies fly in, represented with four swords and bucklers, and then what hard heart will not receive it for a pitched field?
Page 269 - Now you shall have three ladies walk to gather flowers, and then we must believe the stage to be a garden. By and by we hear news of a shipwreck in the same place, and then we are to blame if we accept it not for a rock.
Page 257 - These they played at festivals, in private houses, at weddings, or other entertainments, but in process of time it became an occupation ; and these plays being commonly acted on Sundays and festivals, the churches were forsaken, and the playhouses thronged. Great inns were used for this purpose, which had secret chambers and places, as well as open stages and galleries. Here maids and 'good citizens...
Page 1 - Not a tree, A plant, a leaf, a blossom, but contains A folio volume. We may read, and read, And read again, and still find something new, Something to please, and something to instruct, E'en in the noisome weed.
Page 94 - By yea and nay, sir, I dare say my cousin William is become a good scholar. He is at Oxford still, is he not ? Sil. Indeed, sir, to my cost. Shal. A' must then to the inns o
Page 288 - IT was a knight, in Scotland born, (Follow, my love, come over the strand), Was taken prisoner and left forlorn, Even by the good earl of Northumberland.
Page 285 - There is no remedy. My pains who can express? Alas, they are so strong; My dolour will not suffer strength My life for to prolong. Toll on, thou passing bell; Ring out my doleful knell...

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