The English Poets: Selections, Volume 2Thomas Humphry Ward Macmillan, 1910 - English poetry |
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... · To my Honoured Kinsman , John Dryden Veni Creator Spiritus • · 448 · 449 451 454 456 460 459 463 • 464 · 466 . 467 469 · 470 · 476 . 478 483 484 486 489 495 BEN JONSON . [ Born 1573 ; educated at Westminster CONTENTS . xiii.
... · To my Honoured Kinsman , John Dryden Veni Creator Spiritus • · 448 · 449 451 454 456 460 459 463 • 464 · 466 . 467 469 · 470 · 476 . 478 483 484 486 489 495 BEN JONSON . [ Born 1573 ; educated at Westminster CONTENTS . xiii.
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Selections Thomas Humphry Ward. BEN JONSON . [ Born 1573 ; educated at Westminster School and ( according to Fuller ) at St. John's College , Cambridge . After a brief connexion with the trade of his step - father , a master - bricklayer ...
Selections Thomas Humphry Ward. BEN JONSON . [ Born 1573 ; educated at Westminster School and ( according to Fuller ) at St. John's College , Cambridge . After a brief connexion with the trade of his step - father , a master - bricklayer ...
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... born . And such wert thou ! Look , how the father's face Lives in his issue , even so the race Of Shakspeare's mind and manners brightly shines In his well turnèd and true filèd lines , In each of which he seems to shake a lance , As ...
... born . And such wert thou ! Look , how the father's face Lives in his issue , even so the race Of Shakspeare's mind and manners brightly shines In his well turnèd and true filèd lines , In each of which he seems to shake a lance , As ...
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... born , Standing with fear , and must with horror fall , And destined unto judgment , after all . I feel my griefs too , and there scarce is ground Upon my flesh t ' inflict another wound ; - Yet dare I not complain or wish for death ...
... born , Standing with fear , and must with horror fall , And destined unto judgment , after all . I feel my griefs too , and there scarce is ground Upon my flesh t ' inflict another wound ; - Yet dare I not complain or wish for death ...
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Common terms and phrases
Absalom and Achitophel Beaumont beauty Ben Jonson born breath bright Carew Castara charm Comus conceits crown death delight died dost doth Dryden earth EDMUND W English eyes fair Faithful Shepherdess fame fancy fate fear fire flame Fletcher flowers Giles Fletcher glory golden grace hand happy hast hath heart heaven hell Herbert heroic couplet Herrick hill honour Hudibras Inner Temple Jonson king kiss light lines live Lord Lover's Melancholy Lycidas Milton mind mistress Muse nature ne'er never night numbers o'er once Paradise Paradise Lost passion Pastorals Perilla plays pleasure poems poet poet's poetic poetry praise Queen of Corinth rose sacred shade shepherds shine sighs sing sleep songs sonnets soul spirit spring stars sweet tears thee thine things thou thought tragedies unto verse wanton weep winds wings woods write youth
Popular passages
Page 456 - A man so various that he seemed to be Not one, but all mankind's epitome : Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong, Was everything by starts and nothing long ; But in the course of one revolving moon Was chymist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon ; Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking, Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking.
Page 313 - And bring all heaven before mine eyes. And may at last my weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage, The hairy gown and mossy cell, Where I may sit and rightly spell Of every star that heaven doth shew, And every herb that sips the dew, Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain.
Page 330 - What though the field be lost? All is not lost — the unconquerable will, And study of revenge, immortal hate, And courage never to submit or yield : And what is else not to be overcome.
Page 216 - 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 12 - Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine. I sent thee late a rosy wreath, Not so much honouring thee As giving it a hope that there It could not withered be; But thou thereon didst only breathe And sent'st it back to me; Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, Not of itself but thee!
Page 322 - Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights and live laborious days: But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears And slits the thin-spun life.
Page 480 - At last divine Cecilia came, Inventress of the vocal frame ; The sweet enthusiast from her sacred store Enlarged the former narrow bounds, And added length to solemn sounds, With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. Let old Timotheus yield the prize, Or both divide the crown ; He raised a mortal to the skies ; She drew an angel down 1 JOHN DRYDEN.
Page 453 - A daring pilot in extremity, Pleased with the danger, when the waves went high, He sought the storms ; but, for a calm unfit, Would steer too nigh the sands to boast his wit.
Page 299 - I am now indebted, as being a work not to be raised from the heat of youth, or the vapours of wine, like that which flows at waste from the pen of some vulgar amourist, or the trencher fury of a rhyming parasite ; nor to be obtained by the invocation of dame Memory and her siren daughters ; but by devout prayer to that eternal spirit, who can enrich with all utterance and knowledge, and sends out his seraphim with the hallowed fire of his altar to touch and purify the lips of whom he pleases...
Page 176 - 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? Why so dull and mute, young sinner? Prithee, why so mute? Will, when speaking well can't win her, Saying nothing do't? Prithee, why so mute? Quit, quit, for shame, this will not move: This cannot take her. If of herself she will not love, Nothing can make her: The devil take her!