Memoirs of the Life of the Rt. Hon. Richard Brinsley Sheridan, Volumen1

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Redfield, 1853 - 487 páginas
 

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Página 171 - That's very true, indeed, Sir Peter ; and after having married you, I should never pretend to taste again, I allow...
Página 145 - Well, I'll not debate how far scandal may be allowable ; but in a man, I am sure, it is always contemptible. We have...
Página 142 - ... the . credit of a prudent lady of her stamp as a fever is generally to those of the strongest constitutions. But there is a sort of puny sickly reputation, that is always ailing, yet will outlive the robuster characters of a hundred prudes.
Página 180 - Steal ! — to be sure they may ; and, egad, serve your best thoughts as gipsies do stolen children, disfigure them to make 'em pass for their own.
Página 116 - To gain one smile from thee. " And only thou should'st not despise " My weakness or my woe. " If I am mad in others' eyes,
Página 118 - I ne'er could any lustre see In eyes that would not look on me ; I ne'er saw nectar on a lip, But where my own did hope to sip.
Página 119 - Cheeks of rose, untouch'd by art ? I will own the colour true, When yielding blushes aid their hue. Is her hand so soft and pure ? I must press it, to be sure ; Nor can I be certain then, Till it, grateful, press again. Must I, with attentive eye, Watch her heaving bosom sigh ? I will do so, when I see That heaving bosom sigh for me.
Página 97 - Ay, just as the eyes do of a person who squints: when her love-eye was fixed on me, t'other, her eye of duty, was finely obliqued: but when duty bid her point that the same way, off t'other turned on a swivel, and secured its retreat with a frown!
Página 97 - Then let us study to preserve it so: and while Hope pictures to us a flattering scene of future bliss, let us deny its pencil those colours which are too bright to be lasting. — When hearts deserving happiness would unite their fortunes, Virtue would crown them with an unfading garland of modest hurtless flowers; but ill-judging Passion will force the gaudier rose into the wreath, whose thorn offends them when its leaves are dropped! [Exeunt omnes. EPILOGUE BY THE AUTHOR SPOKEN BY MRS. BULKLEY...
Página 175 - The painter dead, yet still he charms the eye; While England lives, his fame can never die: But he who struts his hour upon the stage, Can scarce extend his fame for half an age; Nor pen nor pencil can the actor save, The art, and artist, share one common grave.

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