The Works of John Dryden: Now First Collected in Eighteen Volumes. Illustrated with Notes, Historical, Critical, and Explanatory, and a Life of the Author, Volume 5

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William Miller, 1808
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Page 291 - Burn'd on the water: the poop was beaten gold; Purple the sails, and so perfumed that The winds were love-sick with them...
Page 171 - tis all a cheat, Yet, fooled with hope, men favour the deceit ; Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay ; To-morrow's falser than the former day ; Lies worse ; and, while it says we shall be blest With some new joys, cuts off what we possest.
Page 408 - Thou best of thieves ; who, with an easy key, Dost open life, and, unperceived by us, Even steal us from ourselves ; discharging so Death's dreadful office, better than himself; Touching our limbs so gently into slumber, That death stands by, deceived by his own image, And thinks himself but sleep.
Page 360 - With sceptred slaves, who waited to salute me? With eastern monarchs, who forgot the sun, To worship my uprising? Menial kings Ran coursing up and down my palace-yard...
Page 403 - I will not make a business of a trifle; And yet I cannot look on you, and kill you; Pray turn your face.
Page 337 - I've been too passionate. Vent. You thought me false; Thought my old age betrayed you. Kill me, sir; Pray, kill me; yet you need not, your unkindness Has left your sword no work. Ant. I did not think so; I said it in my rage: pr'ythee, forgive me. Why didst thou tempt my anger, by discovery Of what I would not hear?
Page 354 - My queen's not only innocent, but loves me. This, this is she, who drags me down to ruin! " But, could she scape without me, with what haste Would she let slip her hold, and make to shore, And never look behind ! " Down on thy knees, blasphemer as thou art, And ask forgiveness of wronged innocence.
Page 406 - Caesar's pride ? What! to be led in triumph through the streets, A spectacle to base plebeian eyes; While some dejected friend of Antony's, Close in a corner, shakes his head, and mutters A secret curse on her who ruined him?
Page 331 - Lie there, thou shadow of an emperor; The place thou pressest on thy mother earth Is all thy empire now: now it contains thee; Some few days hence, and then 'twill be too large, When thou'rt contracted in thy narrow urn, Shrunk to a few cold ashes; then Octavia (For Cleopatra will not live to see it), Octavia then will have thee all her own, And bear thee in her...

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