The Complete Works: Venice preserv'd. The atheist. Poems. Love-letters

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Nonesuch Press, 1926
 

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Page 21 - Ohy woman! lovely woman! nature made thee .To temper man : we had been brutes without you. Angels are painted fair, to look like you : There's in you all that we believe of Heaven, Amazing brightness, purity, and truth, Eternal joy, and everlasting love.
Page 21 - Lead me, lead me, my virgins! To that kind voice. My lord, my love, my refuge! Happy my eyes, when they behold thy face: My heavy heart will leave its doleful beating At sight of thee, and bound with sprightful joys.
Page 316 - And, as she lay upon the durtie ground, Her huge long taile her den all overspred, Yet was in knots and many boughtes upwound, Pointed with mortall sting ; of her there bred A thousand yong.
Page 314 - ... hideous storm, and the air all about so hot and inflamed that at last one was not able to approach it; so that they were forced to stand still and let the flames burn on, which they did for near two miles in length and one in breadth. The clouds of smoke were dismal, and reached, upon computation, near fifty miles in length.
Page 75 - I'm gone, Breed him in virtue and the paths of honour, But let him never know his father's story ; I charge thee, guard him from the wrongs my fate May do his future fortune, or his name. Now nearer yet [Approaching each other.
Page 24 - That's my wish too: For then, my Pierre, I might have cause with pleasure To play the hypocrite. Oh! how I could weep Over the dying dotard, and kiss him too, In hopes to smother him quite; then, when the time Was come to pay my sorrows at his funeral...
Page 22 - With what a boundless stock my bosom's fraught; Where I may throw my eager arms about thee, Give loose to love with kisses, kindling joy, And let off all the fire that's in my heart.
Page 311 - There in a gloomy hollow glen she found A little cottage, built of stickes and reedes In homely wize, and wald with sods around ; ^ In which a witch did dwell, in loathly weedes And...
Page 60 - Burthensome to itself, a few years longer, To lose it, may be, at last in a lewd quarrel For some new friend, treacherous and false as thou art ! No, this vile world and I have long been jangling, And cannot part on better terms than now, When only men like thee are fit to live in't.
Page 61 - I'll not leave thee, Till to thyself, at least, thou'rt reconciled, However thy resentments deal with me. Pier. Not leave me ! Jaff. No ; thou shalt not force me from thee. Use me reproachfully, and like a slave...

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