Specimens of the Early English Poets: To which is Prefixed, an Historical Sketch of the Rise and Progress of the English Poetry and Language,Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, 1811 |
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9 ÆäÀÌÁö
... sorrow , and void of fear , Pleasing myself with phantasms sweet , Methinks the time runs very fleet . All my joys to this are folly , Nought so sweet as melancholy . When I lie waking , all alone , Recounting what I have ill done , My ...
... sorrow , and void of fear , Pleasing myself with phantasms sweet , Methinks the time runs very fleet . All my joys to this are folly , Nought so sweet as melancholy . When I lie waking , all alone , Recounting what I have ill done , My ...
12 ÆäÀÌÁö
... sorrows come . All my griefs to this are jolly , Nought so fierce as melancholy . I'll not change life with any king ; I ravish'd am ! can the world bring More joy , than still to laugh and smile , In pleasant toys time to beguile ? Do ...
... sorrows come . All my griefs to this are jolly , Nought so fierce as melancholy . I'll not change life with any king ; I ravish'd am ! can the world bring More joy , than still to laugh and smile , In pleasant toys time to beguile ? Do ...
22 ÆäÀÌÁö
... , Led by her passions , so must I : For when of pleasure she doth sing , My thoughts enjoy a sudden spring ; But if she do of sorrow speak , E'en from my heart the strings do break . Of his Mistress's Face . AND would you see my [ 22 ]
... , Led by her passions , so must I : For when of pleasure she doth sing , My thoughts enjoy a sudden spring ; But if she do of sorrow speak , E'en from my heart the strings do break . Of his Mistress's Face . AND would you see my [ 22 ]
31 ÆäÀÌÁö
... sorrow ; 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 ...
... sorrow ; 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 ...
64 ÆäÀÌÁö
... Sorrow calls no time that's gone . Violets pluck'd the sweetest rain Makes not fresh nor grow again . Trim thy locks , look cheerfully ; Fate's hidden ends eyes cannot see .. Joys , as winged dreams , fly fast ; Why 64 BEAUMONT AND ...
... Sorrow calls no time that's gone . Violets pluck'd the sweetest rain Makes not fresh nor grow again . Trim thy locks , look cheerfully ; Fate's hidden ends eyes cannot see .. Joys , as winged dreams , fly fast ; Why 64 BEAUMONT AND ...
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Admet ALPHEUS FELCH Anon Beaumont and Fletcher beauty beauty's Biographia Dramatica birds born breast breath Carew Castara chaste Chloris Corpus Christi College court Cupid dear death delight died disdain dost doth earth Edgar Atheling English Exeter College extracted eyes fair fancy fate fear flame Fletcher flowers folly FRANCIS BEAUMONT GILES FLETCHER grace grief happy hath hear heart heaven honour John Hall joys king kiss Laius language leave lips live lord lov'd Love's Love's cruelty lover maid MATTHEW STEVENSON melancholy mind miscellany mistress morning Muses ne'er never night nymph o'er Oxford passion Phillis Picts pleasure poems poet poetry praise pride printed reign rose Saxon says Wood scorn sighs sing smile SONG SONNET sorrow soul spring stanzas star sweet taste tears tell thee thine thing thou art thought unto wanton weep Whilst wind wings youth
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244 ÆäÀÌÁö - 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?
31 ÆäÀÌÁö - 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.
278 ÆäÀÌÁö - 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.
275 ÆäÀÌÁö - 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.
277 ÆäÀÌÁö - 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.
194 ÆäÀÌÁö - 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...
132 ÆäÀÌÁö - 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.
85 ÆäÀÌÁö - 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?
222 ÆäÀÌÁö - 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.
63 ÆäÀÌÁö - 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.