At the Red Glove, Volume 3

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Page 108 - Sigh, no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever ; One foot in sea, and one on shore ; To one thing constant never : Then sigh not so, But let them go, And be you blithe and bonny ; Converting all your sounds of woe Into Hey nonny, nonny.
Page 30 - Les choses les plus souhaitées n'arrivent point; ou, si elles arrivent, ce n'est ni dans le temps ni dans les circonstances où elles auraient fait un extrême plaisir.
Page 155 - ... sweet little sun-faced laughter, Your good little glad grave smile. Your hands through the bookshelves flutter ; Scott, Shakespeare, Dickens, are caught ; Blake's visions, that lighten and mutter ; Moliere — and his smile has nought Left on it of sorrow, to utter The secret things of his thought. No grim thing written or graven But grows, if you gaze on it, bright ; A lark's note rings from the raven, And tragedy's robe turns white ; And shipwrecks drift into haven ; And darkness laughs, and...
Page 63 - tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughter; What's to come is still unsure: In delay there lies no plenty; Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure. 202 Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight. Sir To. A contagious breath. Sir And. Very sweet and contagious, i
Page 213 - And will he not come again? And will he not come again? No, no, he is dead; Go to thy death-bed, He never will come again. His beard was as white as snow All flaxen was his poll, He is gone, he is gone, And we cast away moan: God ha
Page 170 - The best-laid schemes o' mice and men Gang aft a-gley, And leave us nought but grief and pain, For promised joy.
Page 155 - But the beating of my own heart Was all the sound I heard. He came not, no, he came not, The night came on alone, The little stars sat one by one Each on his golden throne...
Page 85 - To swallow gudgeons ere they're catched, And count their chickens ere they're hatched.
Page 30 - Every temper, except downright insipid, is to be animated and softened by the influence of beauty; but of this untractable sort is a lifeless handsome fellow that visits us, whom I have dressed at this twelvemonth; but he is as insen.sible of all 'the arts I use, as if he conversed all that time with his nurse. He out-does our whole sex in all the faults our enemies impute to us; he has brought...
Page 184 - The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices Make instruments to scourge us.

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