Specimens of the Early English Poets: To which is Prefixed, an Historical Sketch of the Rise and Progress of the English Poetry and Language, |
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Page 177
Sooner shall the wandering star Learn what rest and quiet are : Sooner shall the
slippery rill Leave his motion and stand still . Be it joy , or be it sorrow , We refer
all to the morrow ; That , we think , will ease our pain ; That , we do suppose
again ...
Sooner shall the wandering star Learn what rest and quiet are : Sooner shall the
slippery rill Leave his motion and stand still . Be it joy , or be it sorrow , We refer
all to the morrow ; That , we think , will ease our pain ; That , we do suppose
again ...
Page 232
To walk and rest , to live and die , And yet not know whence , how , or why ; To
have our hopes with fears still check ' d , To credit doubts , and truth suspect ;This
, this is what we may A lover ' s absence say . . Love but one . See these two little
...
To walk and rest , to live and die , And yet not know whence , how , or why ; To
have our hopes with fears still check ' d , To credit doubts , and truth suspect ;This
, this is what we may A lover ' s absence say . . Love but one . See these two little
...
Page 249
Amongst the rest , one pestlent fine ( His beard no bigger though than thine )
Walk ' d on before the rest : Our landlord looks like nothing to him ; The king , (
God bless him ! ) . ' twould undo him , Should he go still so drest , At course - a -
park ...
Amongst the rest , one pestlent fine ( His beard no bigger though than thine )
Walk ' d on before the rest : Our landlord looks like nothing to him ; The king , (
God bless him ! ) . ' twould undo him , Should he go still so drest , At course - a -
park ...
Page 386
Not , Celia , that I juster am Or better than the rest ; For I would change each hour
, like them , Were not my heart at rest . But I am tied to very thee By every thought
I have : Thy face I only care to see , Thy heart I only crave . All that in woman is ...
Not , Celia , that I juster am Or better than the rest ; For I would change each hour
, like them , Were not my heart at rest . But I am tied to very thee By every thought
I have : Thy face I only care to see , Thy heart I only crave . All that in woman is ...
Page 447
141 . In hope a king doth go to war . Anon . III . 141 . In the merry month of May .
Breton . II . 280 . In Thetis ' lap while Titan took his rest . Watson . II . 308 . In thy
fair breast , and once fair soul . Howard . III . 304 . In time the bull is brought to
wear ...
141 . In hope a king doth go to war . Anon . III . 141 . In the merry month of May .
Breton . II . 280 . In Thetis ' lap while Titan took his rest . Watson . II . 308 . In thy
fair breast , and once fair soul . Howard . III . 304 . In time the bull is brought to
wear ...
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Common terms and phrases
Anon appear beauty birds born breath bring called cause Charles College court dear death delight desire died doth early earth English epigrams extracted eyes face fair fancy fate fear fire flame flowers give gone grace grief grow hand happy hath hear heart heaven hope joys king language learning leave less light live look lord Love's lover mind morning move Muses Nature ne'er never night once Oxford passion perhaps plays pleasure poems poet poor praise printed prove published reign rest rose scorn seems sense sighs sing smile SONG soon sorrow soul specimen spring star stay sweet taste tears tell thee thine thing thou thought thousand true volume Whilst wind wings Wood 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.