The Book of Elizabethan VerseWilliam Stanley Braithwaite |
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Page 86
... time my faith shall not invade : Still let my praise be honoured thus by you , Be you most worthy , whilst I be most true . M. Drayton 97. What Poor Astronomers Are They WHAT poor astronomers are 86 THE BOOK OF 96. ...
... time my faith shall not invade : Still let my praise be honoured thus by you , Be you most worthy , whilst I be most true . M. Drayton 97. What Poor Astronomers Are They WHAT poor astronomers are 86 THE BOOK OF 96. ...
Page 89
... praise , These glories now are turned to bays . The Glove THOU HOU more than most sweet glove , Unto my more sweet love , Suffer me to store with kisses This empty lodging that now misses The pure rosy hand that ware thee , Whiter than ...
... praise , These glories now are turned to bays . The Glove THOU HOU more than most sweet glove , Unto my more sweet love , Suffer me to store with kisses This empty lodging that now misses The pure rosy hand that ware thee , Whiter than ...
Page 104
... praise When Philomel her voice shall raise ? You violets that first appear , By your pure purple mantles known Like the proud virgins of the year , As if the spring were all your own ; What are you when the rose is blown ? So , when my ...
... praise When Philomel her voice shall raise ? You violets that first appear , By your pure purple mantles known Like the proud virgins of the year , As if the spring were all your own ; What are you when the rose is blown ? So , when my ...
Page 105
William Stanley Braithwaite. 121 . A Praise of His Lady GIVE IVE place , you ladies , and begone ! Boast not yourselves at all ! For here at hand approacheth one Whose face will stain you all . The virtue of her lively looks Excels the ...
William Stanley Braithwaite. 121 . A Praise of His Lady GIVE IVE place , you ladies , and begone ! Boast not yourselves at all ! For here at hand approacheth one Whose face will stain you all . The virtue of her lively looks Excels the ...
Page 107
... so wise do make their way To bear the message of her gentle sprite . The rest be works of nature's wonderment : But this the work of heart's astonishment . E. Spenser 123 . A Ditty In Praise of Eliza , Queen 107 ELIZABETHAN VERSE I22. ...
... so wise do make their way To bear the message of her gentle sprite . The rest be works of nature's wonderment : But this the work of heart's astonishment . E. Spenser 123 . A Ditty In Praise of Eliza , Queen 107 ELIZABETHAN VERSE I22. ...
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Common terms and phrases
Anon Astrophel and Stella beauty bel ami Ben Jonson birds bliss breast breath bright Bullen Campion Corydon Cuckoo dead dear death delight desire dost doth Dowden earth Elizabethan England's Helicon eyes Faery Queene fair Fairy fairy-queen faith fear fire Fletcher flowers glory golden grace green grief hair happy hath heart heaven heavenly Heigh Herrick honour Jonson King kiss Lady leave light Line Line 11 lips live look Lord Love's Love's Labour's Lost lovers lullaby Lyrics Madrigals maids merry mind Muse N'oserez never night nymphs passions pleasure poem poets praise pretty Queen Queen Mab rest roses says Shakespeare shalt shepherd shine sighs sing sleep smile song sonnet sorrow soul Spenser spring stanzas star swain sweet tears tell Tereus thee thine thing thou art thoughts true love unto verse wanton weep Whilst wind youth
Popular passages
Page 412 - GOING TO THE WARS 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 523 - Tu-whit, tu-who ! a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-whit, tu-who ! a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
Page 59 - It was a lover and his lass, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, That o'er the green corn-field did pass In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding : Sweet lovers love the spring.
Page 391 - Orpheus with his lute made trees. And the mountain-tops that freeze, Bow themselves, when he did sing : To his music, plants and flowers Ever sprung ; as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring.
Page 605 - Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid ; Fly away, fly away, breath ; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it ! My part of death, no one so true Did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweet, On my black coffin let there be strown...
Page 69 - 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.
Page 502 - SWEET day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky! The dew shall weep thy fall to-night; For thou must die. Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave, Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My music shows ye have your closes, And all must die. Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like seasoned timber, never gives; But though the whole world turn to coal, Then chiefly...
Page 603 - Sceptre and Crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Page 169 - Who is Silvia ? what is she, That all our swains commend her ? Holy, fair, and wise is she, The heaven such grace did lend her, That she might admired' be. Is she kind as she is fair ? For beauty lives with kindness : Love doth to her eyes repair, To help him of his blindness; And, being helped, inhabits there.
Page 155 - Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least ; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate; For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings.