Kentish Poets: A Series of Writers in English Poetry, Natives of Or Residents in the County of Kent; with Specimens of Their Compositions, and Some Account of Their Lives and Writings, Volúmenes1-2G. Wood, 1821 |
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Página 24
... Dear heart how like you It was no dream , I lay broad waking , But all is turned through my gentleness , Into a strange fashion of forsaking ; And I have leave to go of her goodness , And she also to use new - fangleness ; But since ...
... Dear heart how like you It was no dream , I lay broad waking , But all is turned through my gentleness , Into a strange fashion of forsaking ; And I have leave to go of her goodness , And she also to use new - fangleness ; But since ...
Página 114
... dear ! how much thy power hath wrought ! Thou hast my mind , none of the basest , brought By still kept course , while others sleep , to moan ; Alas ! if from the height of virtue's throne , Thou canst vouchsafe the influence of a ...
... dear ! how much thy power hath wrought ! Thou hast my mind , none of the basest , brought By still kept course , while others sleep , to moan ; Alas ! if from the height of virtue's throne , Thou canst vouchsafe the influence of a ...
Página 115
... dear , no more these counsels try ! O give my passions leave to run their race ! Let fortune lay on me her worst disgrace ; Let folk o'ercharged with brain against me cry , Let all the earth with scorn recount my case ; But do not will ...
... dear , no more these counsels try ! O give my passions leave to run their race ! Let fortune lay on me her worst disgrace ; Let folk o'ercharged with brain against me cry , Let all the earth with scorn recount my case ; But do not will ...
Página 116
... Dear ! love me not , that you may love me more ! The progress of the Poet's suit may be traced in Sonnet 67 . Hope ! art thou true ? or dost thou flatter me ? Doth Stella now begin with piteous eye The ruins of her conquest to espy ? E ...
... Dear ! love me not , that you may love me more ! The progress of the Poet's suit may be traced in Sonnet 67 . Hope ! art thou true ? or dost thou flatter me ? Doth Stella now begin with piteous eye The ruins of her conquest to espy ? E ...
Página 119
... dear ; But thou , desire , because thou would'st have all , Now banished art ; but yet , alas ! how shall ? To what little purpose the following Song directly shews : - - Have I caught my heavenly jewel Teaching sleep most fair to be ...
... dear ; But thou , desire , because thou would'st have all , Now banished art ; but yet , alas ! how shall ? To what little purpose the following Song directly shews : - - Have I caught my heavenly jewel Teaching sleep most fair to be ...
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Kentish Poets. a Series of Writers in English Poetry, Natives of Or ... Rowland Freeman Sin vista previa disponible - 2016 |
Términos y frases comunes
Albertus Morton appear beauty born breast bright Canterbury character charms court dear death delight divine dost doth dread Duncombe Earl earth Eclogues ev'ry eyes fair fame fear flame flowers gentle Gentleman's Magazine Giles Fletcher give grace grief groves hand happy hast hath Hawkesworth heart heaven honour John Duncombe John Lilly Kent Kentish King lady learned light live Lord lyre majesty mind muse never Nicholas Amhurst night nymphs o'er pain passion peace Phineas Fletcher plain poem poet poetical poetry pow'r praise pride Queen reign sacred shade shepherds shew shine sighs sight sing Sir Henry Wotton Sir Philip Sidney Sir Thomas Wyatt smile soft song Sonnet soon soul stanza swain sweet tears thee thine thing Thirsil thou thought translation unto verse virtue whilst winds wings writer youth
Pasajes populares
Página 192 - Come on, sir; here's the place: — stand still. — How fearful And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low! The crows, and choughs, that wing the midway air, Show scarce so gross as beetles : Half way down Hangs one that gathers samphire; dreadful trade! Methinks, he seems no bigger than his head: The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, Appear like mice; and yon...
Página 249 - How happy is he born and taught That serveth not another's will, Whose armour is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill!
Página 61 - 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.
Página 23 - And wilt thou leave me thus ? Say nay ! say nay ! And wilt thou leave me thus, That hath loved thee so long In wealth and woe among : And is thy heart so strong As for to leave me thus ? Say nay ! say nay...
Página 147 - Shepherds, weep no more ! For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor. So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky...
Página 184 - At cards for kisses — Cupid paid; He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows, His mother's doves, and team of sparrows; Loses them too; then down he throws The coral of his lip, the rose Growing on's cheek (but none knows how), With these, the crystal of his brow, And then the dimple of his chin; All these did my Campaspe win. At last he set her both his eyes, She won, and Cupid blind did rise. O Love! has she done this to thee? What shall, alas! become of me? THE SONGS OF BIRDS What bird so sings, yet...
Página 21 - Now cease, my lute, this is the last Labour, that thou and I shall waste; And ended is that we begun : Now is this song both sung and past; My lute, be still, for I have done.
Página 250 - Whose armour is his honest thought And simple truth his utmost skill! Whose passions not his masters...
Página 246 - Nature seem'd in love: The lusty sap began to move; Fresh juice did stir th' embracing vines, And birds had drawn their valentines, The jealous Trout, that low did lie, Rose at a well dissembled fly; There stood my friend with patient skill, Attending of his trembling quill.
Página 215 - ... the wood, That warble forth Dame Nature's lays, Thinking your passions understood By your weak accents; what's your 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 Mistress shall be seen In form and beauty of her mind, By virtue first, then choice, a Queen, Tell me, if she were not designed Th' eclipse and glory...