Works, Volume 1

Front Cover
Henry Francis Cary
H. G. Bohn, 1847
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Page 89 - Si le rétablissement des sciences et des arts a contribué à épurer les mœurs 1 Avertissement
Page 225 - You taught me language; and my profit on't Is, I know how to curse : The red plague rid you, For learning me your language ! Pro.
Page 270 - By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap, To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon, Or dive into the bottom of the deep, Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, And pluck up drowned honour by the locks...
Page 221 - For he whom God hath sent speaketh the words of God : for God giveth not the Spirit by measure unto him.
Page 299 - For there are in nature certain fountains of justice, whence all civil laws are derived but as streams : and like as waters do take tinctures and tastes from the soils through which they run, so do civil laws vary according to the regions and governments where they are planted, though they proceed from the same fountains.
Page 301 - There is more weighty bullion sense in this book than I ever found in the same number of pages in any uninspired writer.
Page 298 - Necesse est ut eam, tion ut vivam : but it may be truly affirmed that there was never any philosophy, religion, or other discipline, which did so plainly and highly exalt the good which is communicative...
Page 243 - By that its.ill-deservings are to be measured, — not by the narrowness of the limits, either of time or place, within which the good providence of God hath confined its power of doing mischief. If, on any ground, it were safe to indulge a hope that the suffering of the wicked may have an end, it would be upon the principle adopted by the great Origen, and by other eminent examples of learning and piety which our own times have seen,— that the actual endurance of punishment in the next life will...
Page 22 - I much wonder that you should listen to the idea, that a fondness for Italian poetry is the corruption of our taste, when you cannot but recollect that our greatest English poets, Chaucer, Spenser, and Milton have been professed admirers of the Italians, and that the sublimer province of poetry, imagination, has been more or less cultivated among us, according to the degree of estimation in which they have been held...
Page 220 - IN the midway1 of this our mortal life, I found me in a gloomy wood, astray Gone from the path direct : and e'en to tell, It were no easy task, how savage wild That forest, how robust and rough its growth, Which to remember only, my dismay Renews, in bitterness not far from death. Yet, to discourse of what there good befel, All else will I relate discover'd there.

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