A Poetry-book of Elder Poets: Consisting of Songs & Sonnets, Odes & Lyrics, Selected and Arranged, with Notes, from the Works of the Elder English Poets, Dating from the Beginning of the Fourteenth Century to the Middle of the Eighteenth CenturyB. Tauchnitz, 1878 - 298 pages |
From inside the book
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Page 7
... face , her haundes , her minion fete , They seeme to mee ther is nonne soe mete As my swete swetynge . Above alle others prayse must I , And loue my pretie pigsnye ; For nonne I finde so womanlie As my swete swetynge . She is soe proper ...
... face , her haundes , her minion fete , They seeme to mee ther is nonne soe mete As my swete swetynge . Above alle others prayse must I , And loue my pretie pigsnye ; For nonne I finde so womanlie As my swete swetynge . She is soe proper ...
Page 26
... face ! What ! —may it be , that ev'n in heavenly place That busy archer his sharp arrows tries ? Sure , if that long - with - love - acquainted eyes Can judge of love , thou feel'st a lover's case ; I read it in thy looks ; thy ...
... face ! What ! —may it be , that ev'n in heavenly place That busy archer his sharp arrows tries ? Sure , if that long - with - love - acquainted eyes Can judge of love , thou feel'st a lover's case ; I read it in thy looks ; thy ...
Page 50
... face ; Then hey noney , noney , hey noney , noney ! Canst drink the waters of the crispèd spring ? O , sweet content ! Swimmest thou in wealth , yet sink'st in thine own tears ? O , punishment ! Then he that patiently want's burden ...
... face ; Then hey noney , noney , hey noney , noney ! Canst drink the waters of the crispèd spring ? O , sweet content ! Swimmest thou in wealth , yet sink'st in thine own tears ? O , punishment ! Then he that patiently want's burden ...
Page 69
... face of the valleys as fine ; The swains may in manners compare— But their love is not equal to mine . William Shenstone . 69 MAY - DAY . GET up , get up for shame ! the blooming morn Upon her wings presents the god unshorn . See how ...
... face of the valleys as fine ; The swains may in manners compare— But their love is not equal to mine . William Shenstone . 69 MAY - DAY . GET up , get up for shame ! the blooming morn Upon her wings presents the god unshorn . See how ...
Page 92
... face . Art thou in city , town , or court ? I to every place resort . Oh , why into the world is sorrow sent ? Men afflicted best repent . What dost thou feed on ? Broken sleep . What tak'st thou pleasure in ? To weep , To sigh , to sob ...
... face . Art thou in city , town , or court ? I to every place resort . Oh , why into the world is sorrow sent ? Men afflicted best repent . What dost thou feed on ? Broken sleep . What tak'st thou pleasure in ? To weep , To sigh , to sob ...
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Other editions - View all
A Poetry-Book of Elder Poets, Consisting of Songs & Sonnets, Odes & Lyrics ... Amelia Ann Blanford Edwards No preview available - 2016 |
Common terms and phrases
ALEXANDER SELKIRK AULD ROBIN GRAY BATTLE OF AGINCOURT Beaumont beauty birds Blake breath bright CHRIST'S NATIVITY crown dear death doth Dunfermline town earth Edward Elder Poets ELEGY ELIZABETH OF BOHEMIA Eurydice eyes fair fairy fear Fletcher flower golden good-morrow grave green grief grove hand hast hath hear heart heaven Helen honour INVERMAY King Kirconnell kiss ladies light Line live Lord LOVE'S LOVER Lycidas lyre Milton moon MORNING OF CHRIST'S Mother Muse Nanny ne'er never night nightingale Noroway notes numbers nymph o'er Osiris pain PATRICK SPENCE Phillida flouts Philomela pleasure poem praise Procne rose sad cypress Sally shade Shakespeare shepherds shine sing SIR PATRICK SPENCE sleep smiling SONG sorrow soul sound spring stream swain sweet tears tell Tereus Thammuz thee things tree unto Verse voice wanton weep wilt thou winds wings Yarrow youth
Popular passages
Page 39 - But, swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread; Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said. But that two-handed engine at the door Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.
Page 85 - Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine ; Or what (though rare) of later age Ennobled hath the buskin'd stage. But O, sad virgin, that thy power Might raise Musaeus from his bower ? Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing Such notes as, warbled to the string, Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek, And made Hell grant what love did seek.
Page 19 - To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I eyed, Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold Have from the forests shook three summers...
Page 73 - 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...
Page 139 - Heigh, ho ! sing, heigh, ho ! unto the green holly : Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly Then, heigh, ho, the holly ! This life is most jolly. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, That dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot : Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp As friend remember'd not Heigh, ho ! sing, heigh, ho ! &c.
Page 117 - When Love with unconfine'd wings Hovers within my Gates ; And my divine Althea brings To whisper at the Grates : When I lie tangled in her hair, And fetter'd to her eye ; The Birds, that wanton in the Air, Know no such Liberty.
Page 272 - tis said) Before was never made But when of old the Sons of Morning sung, While the Creator great His constellations set, And the well-balanced world on hinges hung ; And cast the dark foundations deep, And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep.
Page 37 - When by the rout that made the hideous roar His gory visage down the stream was sent, Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore?
Page 274 - The lonely mountains o'er And the resounding shore A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament ; From haunted spring and dale Edged with poplar pale The parting Genius is with sighing sent ; With flower-inwoven tresses torn The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.
Page 211 - There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high. His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by. " Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove ; Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one forlorn, Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.