Middle Temple Table Talk: With Some Talk about the Table Itself |
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Middle Temple Table Talk: With Some Talk about the Table Itself William George Thorpe Limited preview - 2004 |
Common terms and phrases
Ann Bacon asked BACON WRITE SHAKESPEARE'S Bank Barrister Ben Jonson Bench Benchers bill Bishop brockit brought called cheque Chief Church client close Club Comedy of Errors comes Company costs course Court Dartmoor Prison death dine dinner door Duke fact father fresh gemsbok gentleman give gone Grace Gray's Gray's Inn Hall hand head heard Hence Inner Temple Inns of Court instance James Townsend Saward Jonson Judge jury kind knew lady late lived London looked Lord masque matter Members Mess Middle Temple Middle Temple Hall never night occasion Olympia Brown once paid party passed person play present prison Railway received Rector round Saward sent Shakespeare solicitor story Street tell Templars things thought tion told took turned wife words WRITE SHAKESPEARE'S EPITAPH
Popular passages
Page 47 - What needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones, The labour of an age in piled stones ? Or that his hallowed relics should be hid Under a star-ypointing pyramid ? Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name ? Thou in our wonder and astonishment Hast built thyself a livelong monument.
Page 47 - ... shame of slow-endeavouring art, Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart Hath, from the leaves of thy unvalued book, Those Delphic lines with deep impression took ; Then thou, our fancy of itself bereaving, Dost make us marble, with too much conceiving ; And, so sepulchred, in such pomp dost lie, That kings, for such a tomb, would wish to die.
Page ix - Inn, where ten or twelve of the " Shakespeare" Plays were acted. Lady Anne writes that she "trusts they will not mum, nor mask, nor sinfully revel at Gray's Inn.
Page 14 - For, whether that he paid or toke by taille. Algate he waited so in his achate That he was aye before in good estate. Now is not that of God a full fayre grace That...
Page 68 - With rapid kindness teach Oblivion's pall O'er the sunk foibles of the man to fall -, And fondly dictate to a faithful Muse The prime distinction of the Friend they lose. Twas SOCIAL WIT; which, never kindling strife, Blaz'd in the small, sweet courtesies of life: Those little sapphires round the diamond shone, Lending soft radiance to the richer stone.
Page x - ... that is unwillingly spent ; But howers are minitts when they yeld content. The gathered flowers wee love, that breathe sweet sent ; But loathe them, there sweet odours beinge spente. It is a life is never ill, To lye and sleep in roses still. The rarer pleasure is, it is more sweet ; And frends are kindest when they seldome meet. Who would not heare the nightingale still singe ; Or who grew ever weary of the Springe ? The day must have her nighte, the Springe her fall ; All is divided, none is...
Page 296 - SAINT Peter sat by the celestial gate, His keys were rusty, and the lock was dull, So little trouble had been given of late ; Not that the place by any means was full, But since the Gallic era " eighty-eight," The devils had ta'en a longer, stronger pull, And "a pull altogether," as they say At sea— which drew most souls another way.
Page 14 - Algate he waited so in his achate That he was aye before in good estate. Now is not that of God a full fayre grace That swiche a lewid mannds wit shall face The wisdom of an hepe of lerned men ? " Of maisters had he more than thries ten, That were of law expert and curious...
Page 340 - My father, you have spoken well ; you have told me that Heaven is very beautiful ; tell me now one thing more. Is it more beautiful than the country of the musk-ox in summer, when sometimes the mist blows over the lakes, and sometimes the water is blue, and the loons cry very often ? That is beautiful ; and if Heaven is still more beautiful, my heart will be glad, and I shall be content to rest there till I am very old.
Page x - All time is long that is unwillingly spent, But hours are minutes when they yield content': The gathered flowers we love that breathe sweet scent, But loathe them, their sweet odours being spent. It is a life is never ill To lie and sleep in roses still. The rarer pleasure is it is more sweet, And friends are kindest when they seldom meet. Who would not hear the nightingale still sing, Or who grew ever weary of the spring ? The day must have her night, the spring her fall, All is divided, none is...