Life of Mrs. Siddons, Tom 2

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Harper, 1834 - 260
 

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Strona 125 - Hie thee hither, That I may pour my spirits in thine ear ; And chastise with the valour of my tongue All that impedes thee from the golden round, Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem To have thee crown'd withal.
Strona 125 - Glamis thou art, and Cawdor, and shalt be What thou art promised. Yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way. Thou wouldst be great, Art not without ambition, but without The illness should attend it. What thou wouldst highly That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false, And yet wouldst wrongly win. Thou'dst have, great Glamis, that which cries, "Thus thou must do, if thou have it, And that which rather thou dost fear to do Than wishest should...
Strona 133 - All causes shall give way : I am in blood Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er : Strange things I have in head, that will to hand ; Which must be acted ere they may be scann'd.
Strona 126 - I have given suck, and know How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me : I would, while it was smiling in my face, Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums, And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as you Have done to this.
Strona 51 - Pity it is, that the momentary beauties flowing from an harmonious elocution, cannot like those of poetry be their own record! That the animated graces of the player can live no longer than the instant breath and motion that presents them; or at best can but faintly glimmer through the memory, or imperfect attestation of a few surviving spectators.
Strona 130 - Are you a man ? MACB. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that Which might appal the devil. LADY M. O proper stuff ! This is the very painting of your fear : This is the air-drawn dagger which, you said, Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws and starts, Impostors to true fear, would well become A woman's story at a winter's fire, Authorized by her grandam. Shame itself ! Why do you make such faces ? When all 's done, You look but on a stool.
Strona 132 - Here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.
Strona 128 - Nought's had, all's spent, Where our desire is got without content : 'Tis safer to be that which we destroy Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.
Strona 131 - Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night, Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day; And with thy bloody and invisible hand Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond Which keeps me pale!— Light thickens; and the crow Makes wing to the rooky wood: Good things of day begin to droop and drowse; Whiles night's black agents to their preys do rouse...
Strona 127 - tis not done. The attempt, and not the deed, Confounds us. Hark ! I laid their daggers ready He could not miss them. Had he not resembled My father as he slept, I had done 't.

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