Tributes to ShakespeareMary R. Silsby |
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Ann hath Ann Hathaway APRIL 23 Avon Avon's Bard beauty behold Ben Jonson brain breath bright bust CHARLES CHURCHILL charm churchyard at Fredericksburg crown DAVID GARRICK dead death didst divine doth dream drew earth epigrams eyes fair fame fancy fire Fletcher folio FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE Fredericksburg funeral of Shakespeare GARRICK genius glory grace grave half-Sword hallow'd hand hear heart heaven honor human immortal JOHN DRYDEN John Marston Jonson king laurel light live Memory mighty mind mulberry tree Muse NAHUM TATE Nature Nature's never numbers o'er pall passions plays poem poet poet's praise Prologue REESE LIBRARY round scenes Shake shine sing sleep smile song soul speare speare's spirit stars Stratford Stratford-on-Avon stream sweet Shakspeare sweet Willy tears Tempest thee thine THOMAS OTWAY thou thought tomb trembling twas verse voice Warwickshire Warwickshire Lad William Davenant WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE wonder writ
Popular passages
Page 208 - Jesus' sake, forbeare To dig the dust enclosed here: Blessed be the man that spares these stones, And curst be he that moves my bones.
Page 127 - OTHERS abide our question. Thou art free. We ask and ask — Thou smilest and art still, Out-topping knowledge. For the loftiest hill, Who to the stars uncrowns his majesty, Planting his steadfast footsteps in the sea, Making the heaven of heavens his dwelling-place, Spares but the cloudy border of his base To the foil'd searching of mortality; And thou, who didst the stars and sunbeams know, Self-school'd, self-scann'd, self-honour'd, self-secure, Didst tread on earth unguess'd at.
Page 90 - This pencil take (she said), whose colours clear Richly paint the vernal year : Thine too these golden keys, immortal Boy 1 This can unlock the gates of joy ! Of horror that, and thrilling fears, Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears.
Page 11 - To draw no envy, Shakespeare, on thy name, Am I thus ample to thy book and fame, While I confess thy writings to be such As neither man nor muse can praise too much. 'Tis true, and all men's suffrage. But these ways Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise : For...
Page 11 - Soul of the age! The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage! My Shakespeare, rise! I will not lodge thee by Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie A little further, to make thee a room: Thou art a monument without a tomb, And art alive still while thy book doth live And we have wits to read and praise to give.
Page 46 - Play. Shakespeare, who (taught by none) did first impart To Fletcher Wit, to labouring Jonson Art. He Monarch-like gave those his subjects law, And is that Nature which they paint and draw.
Page 14 - Shakespeare's mind and manners brightly shines In his well-turned and true-filed lines ; In each of which he seems to shake a lance, As brandish'd at the eyes of Ignorance. Sweet Swan of Avon, what a sight it were To see thee in our waters yet appear, And make those flights upon the banks of Thames, That so did take Eliza and our James...
Page 28 - WHAT needs my Shakespeare, for his honour'd bones, The labour of an age in piled stones? Or that his hallow'd relics should be hid Under a star-ypointing pyramid? Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name? Thou, in our wonder and astonishment, Hast built thyself a livelong monument.
Page 238 - Then to the well-trod stage anon If Jonson's learned sock be on, Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild.
Page 17 - TO THE MEMORY OF THE DECEASED AUTHOR, MASTER WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. Shakspere, at length thy pious fellows give The world thy works ; thy works, by which outlive Thy tomb, thy name must ; when that stone is rent, And time dissolves thy Stratford monument, Here we alive shall view thee still...