The Poetical Works of Thomas Hood, Volumen4Little, Brown, 1856 |
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The Poetical Works of Thomas Hood: With Some Account of the Author ... Thomas Hood Vista completa - 1871 |
Términos y frases comunes
blue Bodkin bone breath BRIDGET JONES called cook course cruel daugh dead dear Doctor door dost drouth Drury Lane Eau de Cologne Ellen eyes face fare Farewell gazed God nose gone Graham grave green hand hast thou hath head hear heart Heaven bless horse Hunks JOSEPH GRIMALDI keep King lady Lady Morgan Larned learned light living look Lord Lorenzo Methinks moon mouth ne'er never Newgate night nose Number o'er Old Bailey once Perchance piebald pocket poor potted shrimps round seemed sigh sing Sir Otto sleep soul spit stone stood sure sweet tail tears thee there's thine thing thou art thou hast thought thro tooth turn Twas Ursa Major vile walk washing Watchmen wert Westminster Hall Whilst wonder word Zounds
Pasajes populares
Página 170 - The world recedes; it disappears! Heaven opens on my eyes! my ears With sounds seraphic ring: Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly! O Grave! where is thy victory? O Death! where is thy sting?
Página 33 - Those joyous hours are past away ; And many a heart, that then was gay, Within the tomb now darkly dwells, And hears no more those evening bells. And so 'twill be when I am gone ; That tuneful peal will still ring on, While...
Página 206 - element,' but the word is over-worn. \Exit. Vio. This fellow is wise enough to play the fool ; And to do that well craves a kind of wit : He must observe their mood on whom he jests, The quality of persons, and the time, And, like the haggard, check at every feather That comes before his eye.
Página 100 - SWEET MEMORY, wafted by thy gentle gale, Oft up the stream of Time I turn my sail, To view the fairy-haunts of long-lost hours, Blest with far greener shades, far fresher flowers.
Página 251 - I'll give thee nothing, returned I ; the guardians of the temple should pay you your wages, friend, and not permit you to squeeze thus from every spectator. When we pay our money at the door to see a show, we never give more as we are going out. Sure, the guardians of the temple can never think they get enough. Show me the gate ; if I stay longer, I may probably meet with more of those ecclesiastical beggars.
Página 264 - Till pots, and pans, and mighty kettles ring. 0 culinary Sage ! (I do not mean the herb in use, That always goes along with goose,) How have I feasted on thy page ! " When like a lobster boiled the morn From black to red began to turn," Till midnight, when I went to bed, And clapped my tewah-diddle* on my head.
Página 45 - What is a modern poet's fate ? To write his thoughts upon a slate ; The critic spits on what is done, Gives it a wipe — and all is gone.
Página 240 - And who is poor Maria? said I. The love and pity of all the villages around us; said the postillion — it is but three years ago, that the sun did not shine upon so fair, so quick-witted and amiable a maid; and better fate did Maria deserve, than to have her Banns forbid, by the intrigues of the curate of the parish who...
Página 260 - Kingdom, or that he ought not to enjoy the same, here is his Champion, who saith that he lieth, and is a false traitor, being ready in person to combat with him, and in this quarrel will adventure his life against him on what day soever he shall be appointed.
Página 145 - And tune the various song ? Two hurdy-gurdists, and a poor Street-Handel grinding at my door, Are all my " tuneful throng." Where are ye, early-purling streams, Whose waves reflect the morning beams And colours of the skies ? My rills are only puddle-drains From shambles— or reflect the stains Of calimanco-dyes. Sweet are the little brooks that run O'er pebbles glancing in the sun, Singing in soothing tones : Not thus the city streamlets flow ; They make no music as they go...