Anecdotes of Literature and Scarce Books, Volume 2F. C. & J. Rivington, 1807 - Bibliography |
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Page 9
... unto my fate , Which by your justice gives their empire date . 2 . Depose that proud insulting boy , Who most is pleased when he can most destroy . O let the world no longer governed be By such a blind and childish Deity : For if you ...
... unto my fate , Which by your justice gives their empire date . 2 . Depose that proud insulting boy , Who most is pleased when he can most destroy . O let the world no longer governed be By such a blind and childish Deity : For if you ...
Page 26
William Beloe. Give us then a cup of liquor , Fille it up unto the brim , For then methinkes my wits grow quicker , When my braines in liquor swim . From the same . DUET . PARIS AND ENONE . CENONE . Faire and fayre , and twise so faire ...
William Beloe. Give us then a cup of liquor , Fille it up unto the brim , For then methinkes my wits grow quicker , When my braines in liquor swim . From the same . DUET . PARIS AND ENONE . CENONE . Faire and fayre , and twise so faire ...
Page 34
... doss all appeir My senses to illude . When I your bewtie doe behold , I must unto your fairnes fold ; I dow not flie , howbeit I wold , But bound I must be yours . For For you , sweit hart , I wold forsaik The 34 OLD SONGS .
... doss all appeir My senses to illude . When I your bewtie doe behold , I must unto your fairnes fold ; I dow not flie , howbeit I wold , But bound I must be yours . For For you , sweit hart , I wold forsaik The 34 OLD SONGS .
Page 35
... unto me grant , For courtesie I crave . From a verie excellent and delectable Treatise , intitulit Philotus . Edinburgh . 1612 . SONG . Weepe , weepe , ye wod - men waile , Your hands with sorrow wring , Your master Robin Hood lies ...
... unto me grant , For courtesie I crave . From a verie excellent and delectable Treatise , intitulit Philotus . Edinburgh . 1612 . SONG . Weepe , weepe , ye wod - men waile , Your hands with sorrow wring , Your master Robin Hood lies ...
Page 51
... unto my court , And leave these uncouth woods , and all That feed thy fancy with loves gall , But keepe away the honey and the sport . Come unto me , And with variety Thou shalt be fed , which nature loves and I. There is no musique in ...
... unto my court , And leave these uncouth woods , and all That feed thy fancy with loves gall , But keepe away the honey and the sport . Come unto me , And with variety Thou shalt be fed , which nature loves and I. There is no musique in ...
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Common terms and phrases
agayne Anno Anno Domini Archbishop Hamilton Bible Bishop's Bible black letter British Museum called Church Yard copy curious dayes death delight discourse divers doth Duke of Roxburgh edition England English EPIG flie foole GABRIEL HARVEY Garrick collection Gent Gentlemen George GEORGE GASCOIGNE George Peele grace hath haue Henry History holy honorable Imprinted at London inscribed John King Lady late learned London Lord Maister Majesties mery MUSICKE mynde never night noble Octavo pittie pleasant Poem Poet pretie Printed Printer quæ Queene quoth rare reader Robert Greene Rondeau Roxburgh collection Royal sayd Scotland shew sing singular sold SONG sonne specimen subjoin sundry sunne sweet Testament thee theyr thing Thomas Thomas Lodge thou thought thynges Tract translated tyme unto verses vertue vnto volume vpon wanton Wherein worthy writing written wyll yeres
Popular passages
Page 128 - Quicquid agunt homines, votum, timor, ira, voluptas, Gaudia, discursus, nostri farrago libelli est.
Page 363 - Yok'd with a slow-foot ox on fallow field, Can right areed how handsomely besets Dull spondees with the English dactylets. If Jove speak English in a thundring cloud, " Thwick thwack," and " riff raff," roars he out aloud. Fie on the forged mint that did create New coin of words never articulate.
Page 120 - Love in my bosom like a bee Doth suck his sweet: Now with his wings he plays with me, Now with his feet. Within mine eyes he makes his nest, His bed amidst my tender breast; My kisses are his daily feast, And yet he robs me of my rest. Ah, wanton, will ye?
Page 37 - Then, nymphs, take vantage while ye may; And this is Love, as I hear say. Yet what is Love, good shepherd, show? , A thing that creeps, it cannot go, A prize that passeth to and fro, A thing for one, a thing for moe, And he that proves shall find it so; And shepherd, this is Love, I trow.
Page 79 - ... plains? Ah, sweet Content, where dost thou safely rest ? In heaven, with Angels which the praises sing Of Him that made and rules at his behest The minds and hearts of every living thing ? Ah, sweet Content, where doth thine harbour hold ? Is it in churches with religious men Which please the gods with prayers manifold, And in their studies meditate it then ? Whether thou dost in heaven or earth appear, Be where thou wilt, thou wilt not harbour here.
Page 191 - WEEP not, my wanton, smile upon my knee, When thou art old there's grief enough for thee. Mother's wag, pretty boy, Father's sorrow, father's joy ; When thy father first did see Such a boy by him and me, He was glad, I was woe, Fortune changed made him so, When he left his pretty boy Last his sorrow, first his joy.
Page 318 - Languages. With Arguments of Bookes and Chapters, Annotations and other necessarie Helpes for the better understanding of the Text, and specially for the Discoverie of the Corruptions of divers late Translations, and for cleering the Controversies in Religion of these Daies.
Page 122 - Even on the brink I hear him sing; If so I meditate alone, He will be partner of my moan; If so I mourn, he weeps with me, And where I am there will he be.
Page 121 - I'll make you fast it for your sin, I'll count your power not worth a pin, Alas ! what hereby shall I win, If he gainsay me? What if I beat the wanton boy With many a rod ? He will repay me with annoy, Because a god. Then sit thou...
Page 121 - I'll count your power not worth a pin: Alas, what hereby shall I win, If he gainsay me ? What if I beat the wanton boy With many a rod ? He will repay me with annoy, Because a god. Then sit thou safely on my knee, And let thy bower my bosom be, Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee; O Cupid, so thou pity me, Spare not, but play thee.