Familiar Quotations - - (a book to read txt) 📗
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Comus. Line 373.
The unsunn'd heaps
Of miser's treasure.
Comus. Line 398.
'T is chastity, my brother, chastity:
She that has that is clad in complete steel.
Comus. Line 420.
Some say no evil thing that walks by night,
In fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen,
Blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost
[245]That breaks his magic chains at curfew time,
No goblin, or swart fairy of the mine,
Hath hurtful power o'er true virginity.
Comus. Line 432.
So dear to heav'n is saintly chastity,
That when a soul is found sincerely so,
A thousand liveried angels lackey her,
Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt,
And in clear dream and solemn vision
Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear,
Till oft converse with heav'nly habitants
Begin to cast a beam on th' outward shape.
Comus. Line 453.
How charming is divine philosophy!
Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose,
But musical as is Apollo's lute,[245:1]
And a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets
Where no crude surfeit reigns.
Comus. Line 476.
And sweeten'd every musk-rose of the dale.
Comus. Line 496.
Fill'd the air with barbarous dissonance.
Comus. Line 550.
I was all ear,
And took in strains that might create a soul
Under the ribs of death.
Comus. Line 560.
That power
Which erring men call Chance.
Comus. Line 587.
If this fail,
The pillar'd firmament is rottenness,
And earth's base built on stubble.
Comus. Line 597.
The leaf was darkish, and had prickles on it,
But in another country, as he said,
Bore a bright golden flow'r, but not in this soil;
Unknown, and like esteem'd, and the dull swain
Treads on it daily with his clouted shoon.
Comus. Line 631.
Enter'd the very lime-twigs of his spells,
And yet came off.
Comus. Line 646.
[246]
This cordial julep here,
That flames and dances in his crystal bounds.
Comus. Line 672.
Budge doctors of the Stoic fur.
Comus. Line 707.
And live like Nature's bastards, not her sons.
Comus. Line 727.
It is for homely features to keep home,—
They had their name thence; coarse complexions
And cheeks of sorry grain will serve to ply
The sampler and to tease the huswife's wool.
What need a vermeil-tinctur'd lip for that,
Love-darting eyes, or tresses like the morn?
Comus. Line 748.
Swinish gluttony
Ne'er looks to heav'n amidst his gorgeous feast,
But with besotted base ingratitude
Crams, and blasphemes his feeder.
Comus. Line 776.
Enjoy your dear wit and gay rhetoric,
That hath so well been taught her dazzling fence.
Comus. Line 790.
His rod revers'd,
And backward mutters of dissevering power.
Comus. Line 816.
Sabrina fair,
Listen where thou art sitting
Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave,
In twisted braids of lilies knitting
The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair.
Comus. Line 859.
But now my task is smoothly done,
I can fly, or I can run.
Comus. Line 1012.
Or if Virtue feeble were,
Heav'n itself would stoop to her.
Comus. Line 1022.
I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude,
And with forc'd fingers rude
Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year.
Lycidas. Line 3.
He knew
Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme.
Lycidas. Line 10.
[247]
Without the meed of some melodious tear.
Lycidas. Line 14.
Under the opening eyelids of the morn.
Lycidas. Line 26.
But oh the heavy change, now thou art gone,
Now thou art gone and never must return!
Lycidas. Line 37.
The gadding vine.
Lycidas. Line 40.
And strictly meditate the thankless Muse.
Lycidas. Line 66.
To sport with Amaryllis in the shade,
Or with the tangles of Neæra's hair.
Lycidas. Line 68.
Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise[247:1]
(That last infirmity of noble mind)
To scorn delights, and live laborious days;
But the fair guerdon when we hope to find,
And think to burst out into sudden blaze,
Comes the blind Fury with th' abhorred shears
And slits the thin-spun life.
Lycidas. Line 70.
Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil.
Lycidas. Line 78.
It was that fatal and perfidious bark,
Built in th' eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark.
Lycidas. Line 100.
The pilot of the Galilean lake;
Two massy keys he bore, of metals twain
(The golden opes, the iron shuts amain).
Lycidas. Line 109.
But that two-handed engine at the door
Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.
Lycidas. Line 130.
Throw hither all your quaint enamell'd eyes
That on the green turf suck the honied showers,
And purple all the ground with vernal flowers.
Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies,
The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine,
[248]The white pink, and the pansy freakt with jet,
The glowing violet,
The musk-rose, and the well-attir'd woodbine,
With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head,
And every flower that sad embroidery wears.
Lycidas. Line 139.
So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed,
And yet anon repairs his drooping head,
And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky.
Lycidas. Line 168.
He touch'd the tender stops of various quills,
With eager thought warbling his Doric lay.
Lycidas. Line 188.
To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new.
Lycidas. Line 193.
Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee
Jest and youthful Jollity,
Quips and Cranks and wanton Wiles,
Nods and Becks and wreathed Smiles.
L'Allegro. Line 25.
Sport, that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides.
Come and trip it as ye go,
On the light fantastic toe.
L'Allegro. Line 31.
The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty.
L'Allegro. Line 36.
And every shepherd tells his tale
Under the hawthorn in the dale.
L'Allegro. Line 67.
Meadows trim with daisies pied,
Shallow brooks and rivers wide;
Towers and battlements it sees
Bosom'd high in tufted trees,
Where perhaps some beauty lies,
The cynosure of neighboring eyes.
L'Allegro. Line 75.
Herbs, and other country messes,
Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses.
L'Allegro. Line 85.
To many a youth and many a maid
Dancing in the chequer'd shade.
L'Allegro. Line 95.
[249]
Then to the spicy nut-brown ale.
L'Allegro. Line 100.
Tower'd cities please us then,
And the busy hum of men.
L'Allegro. Line 117.
Ladies, whose bright eyes
Rain influence, and judge the prize.
L'Allegro. Line 121.
Such sights as youthful poets dream
On summer eyes by haunted stream.
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.
L'Allegro. Line 129.
And ever against eating cares
Lap me in soft Lydian airs,
Married to immortal verse,[249:1]
Such as the meeting soul may pierce,
In notes with many a winding bout
Of linked sweetness long drawn out.
L'Allegro. Line 135.
Untwisting all the chains that tie
The hidden soul of harmony.
L'Allegro. Line 143.
The gay motes that people the sunbeams.
Il Penseroso. Line 8.
And looks commercing with the skies,
Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes.
Il Penseroso. Line 39.
Forget thyself to marble.
Il Penseroso. Line 42.
And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet,
Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet.
Il Penseroso. Line 45.
And add to these retired Leisure,
That in trim gardens takes his pleasure.
Il Penseroso. Line 49.
Sweet bird, that shun'st the noise of folly,
Most musical, most melancholy!
Il Penseroso. Line 61.
[250]
I walk unseen
On the dry smooth-shaven green,
To behold the wandering moon
Riding near her highest noon,
Like one that had been led astray
Through the heav'n's wide pathless way;
And oft, as if her head she bow'd,
Stooping through a fleecy cloud.
Il Penseroso. Line 65.
Where glowing embers through the room
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom.
Il Penseroso. Line 79.
Far from all resort of mirth
Save the cricket on the hearth.
Il Penseroso. Line 81.
Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy
In sceptred pall come sweeping by,
Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line,
Or the tale of Troy divine.
Il Penseroso. Line 97.
Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing
Such notes as, warbled to the string,
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek.
Il Penseroso. Line 105.
Or call up him that left half told
The story of Cambuscan bold.
Il Penseroso. Line 109.
Where more is meant than meets the ear.
Il Penseroso. Line 120.
When the gust hath blown his fill,
Ending on the rustling leaves
With minute drops from off the eaves.
Il Penseroso. Line 128.
Hide me from day's garish eye.
Il Penseroso. Line 141.
And storied windows richly dight,
Casting a dim religious light.
Il Penseroso. Line 159.
Till old experience do attain
To something like prophetic strain.
Il Penseroso. Line 173.
Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie.
Arcades. Line 68.
Under the shady roof
Of branching elm star-proof.
Arcades. Line 88.
[251]
O fairest flower! no sooner blown but blasted,
Soft silken primrose fading timelessly.
Ode on the Death of a fair Infant, dying of a Cough.
Such as may make thee search the coffers round.
At a Vacation Exercise. Line 31.
No war or battle's sound
Was heard the world around.
Hymn on Christ's Nativity. Line 53.
Time will run back and fetch the age of gold.
Hymn on Christ's Nativity. Line 135.
Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail.
Hymn on Christ's Nativity. Line 172.
The oracles are dumb,
No voice or hideous hum
Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving.
Apollo from his shrine
Can no more divine,
With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving.
No nightly trance or breathed spell
Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
Hymn on Christ's Nativity. Line 173.
From haunted spring and dale
Edg'd with poplar pale
The parting genius is with sighing sent.
Hymn on Christ's Nativity. Line 184.
Peor and Baälim
Forsake their temples dim.
Hymn on Christ's Nativity. Line 197.
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-y-pointing pyramid?
Dear son of memory, great heir of fame,
What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name?
Epitaph on Shakespeare.
And so sepúlchred in such pomp dost lie,
That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.
Epitaph on Shakespeare.
Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day.[251:1]
Sonnet to the Nightingale.
[252]
As ever in my great Taskmaster's eye.
On his being arrived to the Age of Twenty-three.
The great Emathian conqueror bid spare
The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower
Went to the ground.
When the Assault was intended to the City.
That old man eloquent.
To the Lady Margaret Ley.
That would have made Quintilian stare and gasp.
On the Detraction which followed upon my writing certain Treatises.
License they mean when they cry, Liberty!
For who loves that must first be wise and good.
On the Detraction which followed upon my writing certain Treatises.
Peace hath her victories
No less renown'd than war.
To the Lord General Cromwell.
Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old,
When all our fathers worshipp'd stocks and stones.
On the late Massacre in Piedmont.
Thousands at his bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait.
On his Blindness.
What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice,
Of Attic taste?
To Mr. Lawrence.
In mirth
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