|
| Grocott & Ward, comps. Grocott’s Familiar Quotations, 6th ed. 189-?. |
| Dead |
| Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heaven! Thy ignomy sleep with thee in the grave, But not remember’d in thy epitaph! Shakespeare.—King Henry IV., Part I. Act V. Scene 4. (Prince Henry on Hotspur’s death.) | 1 |
| No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode; There they alike in trembling hope repose, The bosom of his Father and his God. Gray’s Elegy.—The Epitaph, Ver. 3. | 2 |
| Of no distemper, of no blast he died,— But fell like autumn fruit that mellowed long; Even wondered at because he dropt no sooner: Fate seemed to wind him up for fourscore years, Yet feebly ran he on ten winters more, Till like a clock worn out with eating time, The wheels of weary life at last stood still. Lee and Dryden.—Edipus, Act IV. Scene 1. (Egeon to Edipus on the death of king Polybus.) | 3 |
| He still might doubt the tyrant’s power; So fair, so calm, so softly seal’d, The first, last look by death reveal’d! Such is the aspect of this shore; ’Tis Greece, but living Greece no more! So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, We start, for soul is wanting there. Byron.—The Giaour, Line 87. | 4 |
| He who hath bent him o’er the dead, Ere the first day of death is fled— The first dark day of nothingness, The last of danger and distress, (Before Decay’s effacing fingers, Have swept the lines where beauty lingers)— And mark’d the mild angelic air, The rapture of repose that’s there. Byron.—The Giaour, Line 68. [See a note to Buckley’s Transl. of Sophocles, Œdipus Tyr. Par. 53.] | 5 |
| Fal.—What! is the old king dead? Pistol.—As nail in door. Shakespeare.—King Henry IV., Part II. Act V. Scene 3. | 6 |
| O lady, he is dead and gone! Lady, he’s dead and gone! And at his head a green grass turfe, And at his heels a stone. Anonymous.—1 Percy Reliques, Book II. Page 260. The Friars of Orders Gray. | 7 |
| And must I die, she said, And unreveng’d? ’tis doubly to be dead! Dryden.—The Æneid, Book IV. near the end. | 8 |
| Come! let the burial rite be read—the funeral song be sung! An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young— A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young. Poe.—Lenore, Ver. 1. | 9 |
| I have syllables of dread; They can wake the dreamless dead. W. L. Bowles.—Grave of the Last Saxon, Line 32. | 10 |
| Let the dead bury their dead. St. Matthew, Chap. viii. Ver. 22. [That is, let the dead in trespasses and sins perform the office of burying those who are naturally dead.—Note by Archb. Newcome.] | 11 |
| CONTENTS · BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD | ||||
 | ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| Click here to shop the Bartleby Bookstore. | ||||
| ||||
| Shakespeare · Bible · Saints · Anatomy · Harvard Classics · Lit. History · Quotations · Poetry | ||||
| © 1993–2013 Bartleby.com · [Top 150] | ||||
