Recreations of a recluse [signed F.J.].

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Page 40 - Go, hang yourselves all ! you are idle, shallow things : I am not of your element : you shall know more hereafter. [Exit. Sir To. Is't possible ? Fab. If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction.
Page 241 - A snake's small eye blinks dull and shy, And the lady's eyes they shrunk in her head, Each shrunk up to a serpent's eye, And with somewhat of malice, and more of dread, At Christabel she looked askance!
Page 293 - Thou hast nor youth, nor age ; But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep, Dreaming on both: for all thy blessed youth Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms Of palsied eld ; and when thou art old, and rich, Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty, To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this, That bears the name of life? Yet in this life Lie hid more thousand deaths: yet death we fear, That makes these odds all even.
Page 147 - That light we see is burning in my hall. How far that little candle throws his beams ! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.
Page 151 - He said, I think I do. Then said Evangelist, Keep that light in your eye, and go up directly thereto, so shalt thou see the Gate; at which when thou knockest, it shall be told thee what thou shalt do.
Page 255 - Of sun and moon, and that the affrighted globe Should yawn at alteration.
Page 313 - I have protracted my work till most of those whom I wished to please have sunk into the grave, and success and miscarriage are empty sounds. I therefore dismiss it with frigid tranquillity, having little to fear or hope from censure or from praise.
Page 159 - Or let my lamp at midnight hour Be seen in some high lonely tower...
Page 41 - How now, Horatio? you tremble and look pale; Is not this something more than fantasy? What think you on 't? Hor. Before my God, I might not this believe Without the sensible and true avouch Of mine own eyes.
Page 143 - Action is transitory — a step, a blow, The motion of a muscle — this way or that — 'Tis done, and in the after-vacancy We wonder at ourselves like men betrayed : Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.

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