Select specimens of the English poets, ed. by A. De VereAubrey Thomas De Vere 1858 |
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Page 3
... of his port as meke as is a mayde : He never yet no vilainie ' ne sayde , 1 unworthy of a gentleman In all his lif , unto no manere wight ; CHAUCER . 3 From the Prologue to the "Can- terbury Tales" The Death of Arcite.
... of his port as meke as is a mayde : He never yet no vilainie ' ne sayde , 1 unworthy of a gentleman In all his lif , unto no manere wight ; CHAUCER . 3 From the Prologue to the "Can- terbury Tales" The Death of Arcite.
Page 4
Aubrey Thomas De Vere. In all his lif , unto no manere wight ; He was a veray parfit gentil knight . But , for to tellen you of his araie , - His hors was good , but he ne was not gaie . Of fustián he weréd a gipon ? Alle besmatred3 with ...
Aubrey Thomas De Vere. In all his lif , unto no manere wight ; He was a veray parfit gentil knight . But , for to tellen you of his araie , - His hors was good , but he ne was not gaie . Of fustián he weréd a gipon ? Alle besmatred3 with ...
Page 10
... unto the moon ; Thy wishes then dare not be told : Care then who list ! for I have done . And then may chaunce thee to repent The time that thou hast lost and spent , To cause thy lovers sigh and swoon : Then shalt thou know beauty but ...
... unto the moon ; Thy wishes then dare not be told : Care then who list ! for I have done . And then may chaunce thee to repent The time that thou hast lost and spent , To cause thy lovers sigh and swoon : Then shalt thou know beauty but ...
Page 15
... unto his power . Lastly , stood War , in glittering arms yclad , 9 With visage grim , stern look , and blackly hued : In his right hand a naked sword he had , That to the hilts was all with blood imbrued ; And in his left ( that kings ...
... unto his power . Lastly , stood War , in glittering arms yclad , 9 With visage grim , stern look , and blackly hued : In his right hand a naked sword he had , That to the hilts was all with blood imbrued ; And in his left ( that kings ...
Page 22
... unto them streight way . He was an aged syre , all hory gray , With lookes full lowly cast , and gate full slow , Wont on a staffe his feeble steps to stay , Hight Humilta . They passe in , stouping low ; For streight and narrow was the ...
... unto them streight way . He was an aged syre , all hory gray , With lookes full lowly cast , and gate full slow , Wont on a staffe his feeble steps to stay , Hight Humilta . They passe in , stouping low ; For streight and narrow was the ...
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Select Specimens of the English Poets, Ed. by A. de Vere Aubrey Thomas De Vere No preview available - 2016 |
Common terms and phrases
beauty BEN JONSON beneath birds born A.D. bosom breast breath bright Castara Chaucer clouds customed hill dark dead dear death deep delight died A.D. dost doth dream dull earth dwelling earth English poetry eyes fair fame fancy flowers genius GILES FLETCHER glory Gondibert grace grave green happy hast hath hear heart heaven hills honour hour Idlesse king light living looks Lord Lord Byron lyre morning mortal nature ne'er never night numbers nymph o'er PHILIP MASSINGER pleasure poems poet poetic poetry praise rills rise rocks rose round Samian wine shade shine sigh sight silent sing skies sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars stream sweet sweet oblivion tears Tell tempest thee thine things thou art thought trees unto vale vex'd virgin voice wave wind wings woods wouldst youth
Popular passages
Page 253 - Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day...
Page 254 - Away ! away ! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of poesy...
Page 252 - Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness ! Close bosom-friend of the maturing Sun ! Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run ; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core...
Page 248 - I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.
Page 47 - The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel; But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware Of entrance to a quarrel, but being in, Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee. Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice; Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
Page 18 - And we will sit upon the rocks, Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. And I will make thee beds of roses And a thousand fragrant posies, A cap of flowers, and a kirtle...
Page 94 - Enlarged winds, that curl the flood, Know no such liberty. 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 149 - The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death...
Page 152 - Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, With blossomed furze unprofitably gay, There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule, The village master taught his little school. A man severe he was, and stern to view ; I knew him well, and every truant knew. Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace The day's disasters in his morning face...
Page 44 - Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp ? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, The seasons' difference ; as, the icy fang, And churlish chiding of the winter's wind ; Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, — This is no flattery : these are counsellors, That feelingly persuade me what I am.