John Dryden's Palamon and Arcite

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Leach, Shewell, & Sanborn, 1896 - 147ÆäÀÌÁö

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123 ÆäÀÌÁö - Since every man who lives, is born to die, And none can boast sincere felicity, With equal mind, what happens, let us bear, Nor joy, nor grieve too much for things beyond our care. Like pilgrims to the appointed place we tend; The world's an inn, and death the journey's end. Even kings but play; and when their part is done, Some other, worse or better, mount the throne.
86 ÆäÀÌÁö - With bowls that turn'd enamour'd youths to beasts. Here might be seen, that beauty, wealth, and wit, And prowess, to the power of love submit : The spreading snare for all mankind is laid ; And lovers all betray, and are betray'd. The goddess...
61 ÆäÀÌÁö - Fire, water, air, and earth, and force of fates, That governs all, and Heaven that all creates, Nor art, nor nature's hand can ease my grief; Nothing but death, the wretch's last relief : Then farewell youth, and all the joys that dwell, With youth and life, and life itself farewell.
70 ÆäÀÌÁö - The morning lark, the messenger of day, Saluted in her song the morning gray; And soon the sun arose with beams so bright, That all the horizon laughed to see the joyous sight...
94 ÆäÀÌÁö - And that a sleeve embroider'd by his love. With Palamon, above the rest in place, Lycurgus came, the surly king of Thrace ; Black was his beard, and manly was his face ; The...
95 ÆäÀÌÁö - His amber-colour'd locks in ringlets run, With graceful negligence, and shone against the sun : His nose was aquiline, his eyes were blue, Ruddy his lips, and fresh and fair his hue ; Some sprinkled freckles on his face were seen, Whose dusk set off the whiteness of the skin : His awful presence did the crowd surprise, Nor durst the rash spectator meet his eyes — Eyes that confess'd him born for kingly sway, So fierce, they flash'd intolerable day.
122 ÆäÀÌÁö - Yet could he not his closing eyes withdraw, Though less and less of Emily he saw ; So, speechless, for a little space he lay ; Then grasped the hand he held, and sighed his soul away.
120 ÆäÀÌÁö - Fate could not choose a more malicious hour. What greater curse could envious Fortune give, Than just to die when I began to live! Vain men! how vanishing a bliss we crave; Now warm in love, now withering in the grave! Never, O never more to see the sun! Still dark, in a damp vault, and still alone!
129 ÆäÀÌÁö - The monarch oak, the patriarch of the trees, Shoots rising up, and spreads by slow degrees; Three centuries he grows, and three he stays, Supreme in state, and in three more decays...
87 ÆäÀÌÁö - Where neither beast, nor human kind repair; The fowl, that scent afar, the borders fly, And shun the bitter blast, and wheel about the sky. A cake of scurf lies baking on the ground, And prickly stubs, instead of trees, are found; Or woods, with knots and knares, deform'd and old; Headless the most, and hideous to behold: A rattling tempest through the branches went, That stripp'd them bare, and one sole way they bent.

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