British Anthologies, Volume 5Edward Arber Henry Frowde, 1899 |
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Page 12
... to bleed , She repented of the deed ; And would fain have changed the fate : But the pity comes too late ! Loser - like , now , all my wreak Is , that I have leave to speak ! And , in either Prose or Song , To revenge 12 Ben Jonson , P.L..
... to bleed , She repented of the deed ; And would fain have changed the fate : But the pity comes too late ! Loser - like , now , all my wreak Is , that I have leave to speak ! And , in either Prose or Song , To revenge 12 Ben Jonson , P.L..
Page 22
... day and that , by Fates be slain : For whom your curtains may be drawn again ! If your precedency in death do bar A fourth place in your sacred sepulchre ; Under this sacred marble of thine own , Sleep , 22 Fonson and Basse .
... day and that , by Fates be slain : For whom your curtains may be drawn again ! If your precedency in death do bar A fourth place in your sacred sepulchre ; Under this sacred marble of thine own , Sleep , 22 Fonson and Basse .
Page 114
... fate , ere long , will thee betide ! When thou hast handled been a while , Like fair flowers , to be thrown aside ! And you shall sigh , when I shall smile , To see thy love to every one , Hath brought thee to be loved by none ! DEAR ...
... fate , ere long , will thee betide ! When thou hast handled been a while , Like fair flowers , to be thrown aside ! And you shall sigh , when I shall smile , To see thy love to every one , Hath brought thee to be loved by none ! DEAR ...
Page 118
Edward Arber. HAD I loved but at the rate That had been ordained by Fate To all your kind ; I had then requited been , Ere your sleighting I had seen ; Or repined , Neglect to find . But I am so wholly thine ; As in least part to be mine ...
Edward Arber. HAD I loved but at the rate That had been ordained by Fate To all your kind ; I had then requited been , Ere your sleighting I had seen ; Or repined , Neglect to find . But I am so wholly thine ; As in least part to be mine ...
Page 121
... fate ! I now repent ; but ' tis too late ! No torment is so bad as Love ; So bitter to my soul can prove ! All my griefs to this , are jolly ; Nought so hard as Melancholy ! Friends and companions , get you gone ! ' Tis my desire to be ...
... fate ! I now repent ; but ' tis too late ! No torment is so bad as Love ; So bitter to my soul can prove ! All my griefs to this , are jolly ; Nought so hard as Melancholy ! Friends and companions , get you gone ! ' Tis my desire to be ...
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Common terms and phrases
ANON APOLLO art thou AYTON BARLEYCORN Beauty BEN JONSON Bishop of NORWICH blest Blue Cap Boldly I preach breast British Museum Camb canst CAREW CASTARA CELIA Charis cheeks Court CUPID death delight didst disdain dost doth earth Edition Extra fcap eyes face Fair Virtue fancy fate fear fire flame FLETCHER FLETCHER's Comedies flowers Fragmenta Aurea grace grave grief hast hate a cross hath heart heart afire Heaven HERBERT Hesperides honour India Paper JOHN BARLEYCORN JONSON joys kiss Lady Lips LORD Love's Lovers Luminalia Melancholy MONT and FLETCHER's Muse ne'er Nice Valour night Nymphs o'er Old Cap once pleasure Poems Poets scorn sigh sing smile Song Sorrow soul SUCKLING sweet tears tell thee thine things thou art thou shalt thought Thra thyself Trained Band twas unto VENUS Verse W. W. SKEAT wind WITHER World
Popular passages
Page 137 - But peaceful was the night Wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began...
Page 283 - 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!
Page 25 - Triumph, my Britain, thou hast one to show, To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe. He was not of an age, but for all time! And all the Muses still were in their prime When like Apollo he came forth to warm Our ears, or like a Mercury to charm! Nature herself was proud of his designs, And joyed to wear the dressing of his lines, Which were so richly spun and woven so fit As, since, she will vouchsafe no other wit.
Page 182 - 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.
Page 137 - But He, her fears to cease, Sent down the meek-eyed Peace; She, crowned with olive green, came softly sliding Down through the turning sphere, His ready harbinger, With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing; And waving wide her myrtle wand, She strikes a universal peace through sea and land.
Page 209 - ASK me no more where Jove bestows, When June is past, the fading rose; For in your beauty's orient deep These flowers, as in their causes, sleep. Ask me no more whither do stray The golden atoms of the day; For in pure love heaven did prepare Those powders to enrich your hair.
Page 141 - Yea Truth and Justice then Will down return to men, Orbed in a rainbow ; and like glories wearing Mercy will sit between, Throned in celestial sheen, With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering ; And Heaven, as at some festival, Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall.
Page 145 - Sweet echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen Within thy airy shell By slow Meander's margent green, And in the violet-embroidered vale Where the love-lorn nightingale Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well: Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair That likest thy Narcissus are? O, if thou have Hid them in some flowery cave, Tell me but where, Sweet Queen of Parley, Daughter of the Sphere! So may'st thou be translated to the skies, And give resounding grace to all Heaven's harmonies!
Page 133 - WHAT needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones The labour of an age in piled stones ? Or that his hallowed reliques should be hid Under a star-ypointing pyramid ? Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name ? Thou in our wonder and astonishment Hast built thyself a livelong monument.
Page 13 - Or the nard in the fire ? Or have tasted the bag of the bee ? O so white, O so soft, O so sweet is she!