British Anthologies, Volume 5Edward Arber Henry Frowde, 1899 |
From inside the book
Results 1-5 of 60
Page 5
... true measure ) Tyrant Rhyme hath so abused That they , long since , have refusèd Other cæsure ! He that first invented thee ; May his joints tormented be , Cramped for ever ! Still may Syllables jar with Time 5 Ben Jonson , P.L..
... true measure ) Tyrant Rhyme hath so abused That they , long since , have refusèd Other cæsure ! He that first invented thee ; May his joints tormented be , Cramped for ever ! Still may Syllables jar with Time 5 Ben Jonson , P.L..
Page 6
... hath brought the Lily to the Rose ; And , with their chainèd dance , Re - celebrates the joyful Match with France ! They are a School to win The fair French Daughter to learn English in ; And , graced with her Song , To make the ...
... hath brought the Lily to the Rose ; And , with their chainèd dance , Re - celebrates the joyful Match with France ! They are a School to win The fair French Daughter to learn English in ; And , graced with her Song , To make the ...
Page 14
... hath smutched it ? Have you felt the wool of beaver , Or swan's down , ever ? Or have smelt o ' the bud o ' the briar , 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 ...
... hath smutched it ? Have you felt the wool of beaver , Or swan's down , ever ? Or have smelt o ' the bud o ' the briar , 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 ...
Page 22
... hath hit His Face ! the Print would then surpass All that was ever writ in brass . But since he cannot ; Reader , look Not on his Picture ; but his Book ! WILLIAM BASSE . ON THE DEATH OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE , WHO DIED IN APRIL , ANNO ...
... hath hit His Face ! the Print would then surpass All that was ever writ in brass . But since he cannot ; Reader , look Not on his Picture ; but his Book ! WILLIAM BASSE . ON THE DEATH OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE , WHO DIED IN APRIL , ANNO ...
Page 23
... HATH LEFT US . To draw no envy , SHAKESPEARE ! on thy Name , Am I thus ample to thy Book and fame ; While I confess thy Writings to be such As neither Man , nor Muse , can praise too much ! ' Tis true ! and all men's suffrage ! But ...
... HATH LEFT US . To draw no envy , SHAKESPEARE ! on thy Name , Am I thus ample to thy Book and fame ; While I confess thy Writings to be such As neither Man , nor Muse , can praise too much ! ' Tis true ! and all men's suffrage ! But ...
Other editions - View all
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!