Chapter BED to BIBLE of Index by Grocott's Quotations - Alpha

Shakespeare.—Tempest, Act III. Scene 3. (Sebastian to Alonso.)

BELL.—Silence that dreadful bell,
It frights the isle from her propriety.

Shakespeare.—Othello, Act II. Scene 3. (The Moor, after the affray between Cassio and Montano.)

That all-softening, overpowering knell,
The tocsin of the soul—the dinner bell.

Byron.—Don Juan, Canto V. Stanza 49.

BELLS.—There is in souls a sympathy with sounds;—
How soft the music of those village bells,
Falling at intervals upon the ear
In cadence sweet, now dying all away.

Cowper.—The Task, Book VI. Line 1.

Those evening bells! those evening bells!
How many a tale their music tells,
Of youth, and home, and that sweet time,
When last I heard their soothing chime!

Tom Moore.—Vol. IV. Page 157.

Now see that noble and most sovereign reason,
Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh.

Shakespeare.—Hamlet, Act III. Scene 1. (Ophelia, after her interview with Hamlet, and his pretended madness.)

BEND.—Shall I bend low, and in a bondman’s key,
With ’bated breath, and whispering humbleness,
Say this?—

Shakespeare.—Merchant of Venice, Act I. Scene 3. (Shylock to Antonio.)

BENEVOLENCE.—The lessons of prudence have charms,
And slighted may lead to distress;
But the man whom benevolence warms
Is an angel who lives but to bless.

Bloomfield.—The Banks of the Wye.

BENT.—They fool me to the top of my bent.

Shakespeare.—Hamlet, Act III. Scene 2. (The Prince to Polonius.)

BETTER.—A better man than his father.

Smart’s Horace.—Book I. Ode 15.

The better part of valour is discretion; in the which better part I have saved my life.

Shakespeare.—King Henry IV. Part I. Act V. Scene 4. (Falstaff, after he had fallen down as if dead.)

Poor Jack, farewell!
I could have better spar’d a better man.

Shakespeare.—King Henry IV. Part I. Act V. Scene 4. (Prince Henry, who supposed him dead.)

BIBLE.—The sacred volume claimed their hearts alone,
Which taught the way to glory and to God.

Anonymous.—Collet’s Rel. of Lit. 20.

Whence, but from Heaven, could men unskill’d in arts,
In several ages born, in several parts,
Weave such agreeing truths? or how, or why
Should all conspire to cheat us with a lie?