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Good, the more communicated, more abundant grows.
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The helmed Cherubim, And sworded Seraphim, Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd.
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[Rhyme is] but the invention of a barbarous age, to set off wretched matter and lame Meter; ... Not without cause therefore some both Italian and Spanish poets of prime note have rejected rhyme, ... as have also long since our best English tragedies, as... trivial and of no true musical delight; which [truly] consists only in apt numbers, fit quantity of syllables, and the sense variously drawn out from one verse into another, not in the jingling sound of like endings, a fault avoided by the learned ancients both in poetry and all good oratory.
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Attic tragedies of stateliest and most regal argument.
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Yet I argue notAgainst Heav'n's hand or will, nor bate one jotOf heart or hope; but still bear up, and steerRight onward.
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Inflamed with the study of learning and the admiration of virtue; stirred up with high hopes of living to be brave men and worthy patriots, dear to God, and famous to all ages.
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And pomp, and feast, and revelry, With mask, and antique pageantry, Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream. Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Jonson's learned sock be on, Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild, And ever, against eating cares, Lap me in soft Lydian airs, Married to immortal verse Such as the meeting soul may pierce, In notes with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out.
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Of calling shapes, and beck'ning shadows dire, And airy tongues that syllable men's names.
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Execute their airy purposes.
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Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts And eloquence.
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Swinish gluttony never looks to heaven amidst its gorgeous feast; but with besotted, base ingratitude, cravens and blasphemes his feeder.
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Truth never comes into the world but like a bastard, to the ignominy of him that brought her birth.
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Sometime let gorgeous TragedyIn sceptred pall come sweeping by,Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line,Or the tale of Troy divine.
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Anarchy is the sure consequence of tyranny; for no power that is not limited by laws can ever be protected by them.
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The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed,But, swoln with wind, and the rank mist they draw,Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread:Besides what the grim wolf with privy pawDaily devours apace, and nothing said;But that two-handed engine at the doorStands ready to smite once, and smite no more.
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What honour that, But tedious waste of time, to sit and hear So many hollow compliments and lies.
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Let no man seek Henceforth to be foretold that shall befall Him or his children.
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The leaf was darkish, and had prickles on it, But in another country, as he said, Bore a bright golden flow'r, but not in this soil; Unknown, and like esteem'd, and the dull swain Treads on it daily with his clouted shoon.
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Virtue hath no tongue to check vice's pride.
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O madness to think use of strongest wines And strongest drinks our chief support of health, When God with these forbidden made choice to rear His mighty champion, strong above compare, Whose drink was only from the liquid brook.
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With a smile that glow'd Celestial rosy red, love's proper hue.
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No mighty trance, or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
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This having learnt, thou hast attained the sum Of wisdom; hope no higher, though all the stars Thou knew'st by name, and all th'ethereal powers, All secrets of the deep, all nature's works, Or works of God in heav'n, air, earth, or sea, And all the riches of this world enjoy'dst, And all the rule, one empire; onlyadd Deeds to thy knowledge answerable, add faith, Add virtue, patience, temperance, add love, By name to come called charity, the soul Of all the rest: then wilt thou not be loath To leave this Paradise, but shalt possess A paradise within thee, happier far.
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Methought I saw my late espousèd saintBrought to me like Alcestis from the grave.