Oliver Goldsmith, a BiographyMacmillan, 1903 - 303 strani |
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Zadetki 1–5 od 45
Stran
... LADY OF THE LAKE . Edited with Notes and an Introduction by George Rice Carpenter , Professor of Rhetoric and English Composition in Columbia University SCOTT'S MARMION . Edited by Robert Morss Lovett , A.B. , Assistant Professor of ...
... LADY OF THE LAKE . Edited with Notes and an Introduction by George Rice Carpenter , Professor of Rhetoric and English Composition in Columbia University SCOTT'S MARMION . Edited by Robert Morss Lovett , A.B. , Assistant Professor of ...
Stran 33
... LADY ON VALENTINE'S DAY , WITH THE DRAWING OF A HEART . With submission at your shrine , Comes a heart your Valentine ; From the side where once it grew , See it panting flies to you . Take it , fair one , to your breast , Soothe the ...
... LADY ON VALENTINE'S DAY , WITH THE DRAWING OF A HEART . With submission at your shrine , Comes a heart your Valentine ; From the side where once it grew , See it panting flies to you . Take it , fair one , to your breast , Soothe the ...
Stran 37
... ladies indeed may ogle , and the gentlemen sigh ; but an embargo is laid on any closer commerce . At length , to interrupt hostilities , the lady directress , or intendant , or what you will , pitches upon a lady and gentleman to walk a ...
... ladies indeed may ogle , and the gentlemen sigh ; but an embargo is laid on any closer commerce . At length , to interrupt hostilities , the lady directress , or intendant , or what you will , pitches upon a lady and gentleman to walk a ...
Stran 38
... ladies say it themselves . But to be less serious ; where will you find a language so prettily become a pretty mouth as the ... lady drew up her mouth as if going to pronounce the letter P. 6 " But how ill , my Bob , does it become me to ...
... ladies say it themselves . But to be less serious ; where will you find a language so prettily become a pretty mouth as the ... lady drew up her mouth as if going to pronounce the letter P. 6 " But how ill , my Bob , does it become me to ...
Stran 43
... lady burns nothing about her phlegmatic ad- mirer but his tobacco . You must know , sir , every woman carries in her hand a stove of coals , which , when she sits , she snugs under her petticoats , and at this chimney dozing Strephon ...
... lady burns nothing about her phlegmatic ad- mirer but his tobacco . You must know , sir , every woman carries in her hand a stove of coals , which , when she sits , she snugs under her petticoats , and at this chimney dozing Strephon ...
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acquaintance admiration amusement anecdote appeared Ballymahon Beauclerc Bennet Langton bookseller Boswell Burke CHAPTER character club Colman comedy conversation Cradock David Garrick dear delighted dinner doctor Edited English essays fame favor fortune friends Garrick gave genius give Gold Green Arbor guinea heart honor Horneck humor Ireland Irish Irving Irving's Jessamy Bride Johnson kind lady Langton laugh learned letter Lissoy literary literature London Lord Lord Charlemont manner merit mind nature never Newbery Northumberland House occasion OLIVER GOLDSMITH person picture play poem poet poetical poetry political poor Goldsmith pounds published purse replied river Inny says scenes Sir Joshua Reynolds smith society soon spirit style success talent talk Temple thing thought tion told took town Traveller uncle Contarine Vicar of Wakefield Voltaire Washington Irving whimsical William Filby writings
Priljubljeni odlomki
Stran 9 - Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, With blossom'd furze unprofitably gay — There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule, The village master taught his little school.
Stran 111 - I was dressed, and found that his landlady had arrested him for his rent, at which he was in a violent passion. I perceived that he had already changed my guinea, and had got a bottle of madeira and a glass before him. I put the cork into the bottle, desired he would be calm, and began to talk to him of the means by which he might be extricated.
Stran 176 - Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill, Around my fire an evening group to draw, And tell of all I felt and all I saw; And, as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue, Pants to the place from whence at first she flew — I still had hopes — my long vexations past, Here to return, and die at home at last.
Stran 8 - His house was known to all the vagrant train ; He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain.
Stran 266 - Here Reynolds is laid, and to tell you my mind, .He has not left a wiser or better behind : His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand : His manners were gentle, complying, and bland; Still bom to improve us in every part, His pencil our faces, his manners our heart...
Stran 207 - Mr. Mickle, the translator of The Lusiad, and I went to visit him at this place a few days afterwards. He was not at home ; but having a curiosity to see his apartment, we went in and found curious scraps of descriptions of animals, scrawled upon the wall with a black lead pencil.
Stran 111 - The wretch, condemn'd with life to part, Still, still on hope relies ; And every pang that rends the heart, Bids expectation rise. Hope, like the glimmering taper's light, Adorns and cheers the way ; And still, as darker grows the night, Emits a brighter ray.
Stran 24 - Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see, My heart, untravell'd, fondly turns to thee : Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain, And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.
Stran 177 - tis hard to combat, learns to fly! For him no wretches, born to work and weep, Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep; No surly porter stands in guilty state, To spurn imploring famine from the gate: But on he moves to meet his latter end, Angels around befriending virtue's friend; Sinks to the grave with unperceived decay, While Resignation gently slopes the way; And, all his prospects brightening to the last, His heaven commences ere the world be past.
Stran 125 - She complied in a manner so exquisitely pathetic as moved me. When lovely woman stoops to folly, And finds too late that men betray ; What charm can sooth her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away ? The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom — is to die.