Specimens of the Early English Poets: To which is Prefixed, an Historical Sketch of the Rise and Progress of the English Poetry and Language,Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, 1811 - English poetry |
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Page 29
... hath her last voyage made , and brought To royal harbour this her sacred fraught : Who to her king bequeathes the wealth of kings ; And dying , her own epicedium sings . Extract from an Address " Deo Opt . Max . " at the end of the same ...
... hath her last voyage made , and brought To royal harbour this her sacred fraught : Who to her king bequeathes the wealth of kings ; And dying , her own epicedium sings . Extract from an Address " Deo Opt . Max . " at the end of the same ...
Page 68
... hath put out her light , All her shadows closing : Phoebe lends her horns to - night To thy head's disposing . Let no fatal bell nor clock Pierce the hollow of thy ear : Tongueless be the early cock , Or what else may add a fear . Let ...
... hath put out her light , All her shadows closing : Phoebe lends her horns to - night To thy head's disposing . Let no fatal bell nor clock Pierce the hollow of thy ear : Tongueless be the early cock , Or what else may add a fear . Let ...
Page 98
... d about with disrespect ; From all these , and this dull air A fit object for despair , She hath taught me by her might To draw comfort and delight . Therefore , thou best earthly bliss , I will cherish 5 98 GEORGE WITHER .
... d about with disrespect ; From all these , and this dull air A fit object for despair , She hath taught me by her might To draw comfort and delight . Therefore , thou best earthly bliss , I will cherish 5 98 GEORGE WITHER .
Page 102
... hath so ruthless torn , so rack'd , so tortur'd every vein ; All comfort comes too late to have it ever cur'd again . My swimming head begins to dance death's giddy round ; A shuddering chillness doth each sense confound : Benumb'd is ...
... hath so ruthless torn , so rack'd , so tortur'd every vein ; All comfort comes too late to have it ever cur'd again . My swimming head begins to dance death's giddy round ; A shuddering chillness doth each sense confound : Benumb'd is ...
Page 109
... hath , without desire To make known how much she hath ; And her anger flames no higher Than may fitly sweeten wrath ; Full of pity as may be , Though , perhaps , not so to me . Reason masters every sense , And her virtues grace her ...
... hath , without desire To make known how much she hath ; And her anger flames no higher Than may fitly sweeten wrath ; Full of pity as may be , Though , perhaps , not so to me . Reason masters every sense , And her virtues grace her ...
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Admet ALPHEUS FELCH Anon Beaumont and Fletcher beauty beauty's Biographia Dramatica birds born breast breath Carew Castara chaste Chloris Corpus Christi College court Cupid dear death delight died disdain dost doth earth Edgar Atheling English Exeter College extracted eyes fair fancy fate fear flame Fletcher flowers folly FRANCIS BEAUMONT GILES FLETCHER grace grief happy hath hear heart heaven honour John Hall joys king kiss Laius language leave lips live lord lov'd Love's Love's cruelty lover maid MATTHEW STEVENSON melancholy mind miscellany mistress morning Muses ne'er never night nymph o'er Oxford passion Phillis Picts pleasure poems poet poetry praise pride printed reign rose Saxon says Wood scorn sighs sing smile SONG SONNET sorrow soul spring stanzas star sweet taste tears tell thee thine thing thou art thought unto wanton weep Whilst wind wings youth
Popular passages
Page 244 - WHY so pale and wan, fond lover? Prithee, why so pale? Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail? Prithee, why so pale?
Page 31 - Sweet air blow soft, mount larks aloft To give my Love good-morrow ! Wings from the wind to please her mind Notes from the lark I'll borrow ; Bird prune thy wing, nightingale sing, To give my Love good-morrow ; To give my Love good-morrow Notes from them both I'll borrow.
Page 278 - Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage ; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage : If I have freedom in my love, And in my soul am free, Angels alone that soar above Enjoy such liberty.
Page 275 - TELL me not, sweet, I am unkind, — That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind To war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field ; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As you, too, shall adore ; I could not love thee, dear, so much. Loved I not honour more.
Page 277 - Prison WHEN Love with unconfined wings Hovers within my gates, And my divine Althea brings To whisper at the grates — When I lie tangled in her hair And fettered to her eye, The birds that wanton in the air Know no such liberty.
Page 194 - Go, lovely rose ! Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied. That hadst thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired : Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. Then die ! that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee, — How...
Page 132 - The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Page 85 - I how great she be? Great, or good, or kind, or fair, I will ne'er the more despair! If she love me, this believe, I will die ere she shall grieve! If she slight me, when I woo, I can scorn, and let her go! For if she be not for me, What care I for whom she be?
Page 222 - Now the bright Morning Star, day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose.
Page 63 - Fountain heads and pathless groves, Places which pale passion loves! Moonlight walks, when all the fowls Are warmly housed save bats and owls! A midnight bell, a parting groan, These are the sounds we feed upon; Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley; Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy.