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grem, vore gear
Hare! to the telling bells
in the wads of wee.
Naught save the crucifix and rosary,
When on her knees she fell,
Thus I renounce the world and worldly things!"
To wither like the blossom in the bud,
Comes to release thee. Ah! what now to thee,
IPHIGENEIA AND AGAMEMNON.
IPHIGENEIA, when she heard her doom
Like a dream the whole is fled;
Me, whom thou ever hast, until this hour,
Thus I renounce the world!" When all was And the down deadened it within the nest?"
And as a nun in homeliest guise she knelt,
He moved her gently from him, silent still;
I might at Hymen's feet bend my clipt brow;
WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.
So long a silence seemed the approach of death, QUEEN. What have I done, that thou dar'st And like it. Once again she raised her voice :
wag thy tongue “O father! if the ships are now detained, In noise so rude against me ? And all your vows move not the gods above, НАМ.
Such an act, When the knife strikes me there will be one prayer That blurs the grace and blush of modesty; The less to them ; and purer can there be Calls virtue, hypocrite ; takes off the rose Any, or more fervent, than the daughter's prayer From the fair forehead of an innocent love, For her dear father's safety and success ? ?" And sets a blister there ; makes marriage vows A groan that shook him shook not his resolve. As false as dicers' oaths : 0, such a deed An aged man now entered, and without
As from the body of contraction plucks One word stepped slowly on, and took the wrist The very soul; and sweet religion makes Of the pale maiden. She looked up, and saw A rhapsody of words : Heaven's face doth glow; The fillet of the priest and calm, cold eyes. Yea, this solidity and compound mass, Then turned she where her parent stood, and cried: With tristful visage, as against the doom, “O father ! grieve no more ; the ships can sail." Is thought-sick at the act.
Ah me, what act, That rouls so loud, and thunders in the index? Ham. Look here, upon this picture, and on
this, – THE CURSE OF KEHAMA.
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. I CHARM thy life,
See, what a grace was seated on this brow; From the weapons of strife,
Hyperion's curls ; the front of Jove himself ; From stone and from wood,
An eye like Mars, to threaten and command;
A station like the herald Mercury
New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill ;
A combination, and a form, indeed,
Where every god did seem to set his seal,
This was your husband. Look you now, what
follows: And water shall hear me,
Here is your husband ; like a mildewed ear, And know thee and flee thee : Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes ? And the winds shall not touch thee Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, When they pass by thee,
And batten on this moor? Ha ! have you eyes ? And the dews shall not wet thee
You cannot call it love ; for, at your age,
The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble,
And waits upon thejudgment: and whatjudgment To release thee, in vain ;
Would step from this to this ? Sense, sure, you Thou shalt live in thy pain,
Else, could you not have motion : but, sure, that
Is apoplexed : for madness would not err;
Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thralled
But it reserved some quantity of choice,
That thus hath cozened you at hoodman-blind !
Or but a sickly part of one true sense
O shame! where is thy blush? Rebellious hell, HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK."
If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones, HAMLET. Leave wringing of your hands : To flaming youth let virtue be as wax, peace ! sit you down,
And melt in her own fire: proclaim no shame And let me wring your heart : for so I shall, When the compulsive ardor gives the charge, If it be made of penetrable stuff ;
Since frost itself as actively doth burn,
O Hamlet, speak no more :
Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul;
O, speak to me no more;
Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings,
HAM. Do you not come your tardy son to chide,
GHOST. Do not forget this visitation
HAM. O, throw away the worser part of it,
Once more, good night :
And when you are desirous to be blessed,
I must be cruel, only to be kind : HAM. How is it with you, lady? Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind. QUEEN. Alas, how is 't with you, That you do bend your eye on vacancy, And with the incorporal air do hold discourse? Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep; And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm, Your bedded hair, like life in excrements, Starts up, and stands on end. O gentle son, Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look? HAM. On him! on him! Look you, how pale he glares!
QUEEN. This is the very coinage of your brain: This bodiless creation ecstasy
Is very cunning in.
My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time,
It was a dreary day in Padua.
Lay dead. She died of some uncertain ill,
Lest with this piteous action you convert
My father, in his habit as he lived!
In vain had Paracelsus taxed his art,
As though she fain would sleep no common sleep,