Literary and Historical Memorials of London, Volume 2

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Page 304 - All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea. Some lay in dead men's skulls ; and in those holes Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept, As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems, That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.
Page 386 - Be of good comfort, master Ridley, and play the man. We shall this day light such a candle, by God's grace, in England, as I trust shall never be put out.
Page 306 - Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams, To set my brother Clarence and the king In deadly hate the one against the other...
Page 72 - There, in a lonely room, from bailiffs snug, The muse found Scroggen stretch'd beneath a rug. A window, patch'd with paper, lent a ray, That dimly...
Page 404 - My prime of youth is but a frost of cares; My feast of joy is but a dish of pain; My crop of corn is but a field of tares, And all my good is but vain hope of gain. The day is fled and yet I saw no sun, And now I live and now my life is done.
Page 345 - My last and only request shall be, that myself may only bear the burden of your Grace's displeasure, and that it may not touch the innocent souls of those poor gentlemen who, as I understand, are likewise in strait imprisonment for my sake. If ever I have found favour in your sight, if ever the name of...
Page 232 - Let him that is a true-born gentleman, And stands upon the honour of his birth, If he suppose that I have pleaded truth, From off this brier pluck a white rose with me. 30 Som. Let him that is no coward nor no flatterer, But dare maintain the party of the truth, Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me.
Page 20 - Dear Bob, — I have not anything to leave thee, to perpetuate my memory, but two helpless girls ; look upon them, sometimes ; and think of him that was, to the last moment of his life, thine, — GEORGE FARQUHAR.
Page 42 - It is said when Addison had suffered any vexation from the countess, he withdrew the company from Button's house. From the coffee-house he went again to a tavern, where he often sat late, and drank too much wine.
Page 71 - I'm sped, If foes, they write, if friends, they read me dead. Seized and tied down to judge, how wretched I! Who can't be silent, and who will not lie. To laugh, were want of goodness and of grace, And to be grave, exceeds all power of face.

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