Chaucer to BurnsWilliam James Linton, Richard Henry Stoddard C. Scribner's Sons, 1883 |
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Page xlviii
... Grief 145 Love me not for comely Grace !. 145 The Tomb of Desire ... 146 Weep no more ! .... 147 Love till death 147 Since first I saw your face 148 On a beautiful Virgin 149 SIR HENRY WOTTON : On his Mistress . SIR ROBERT AYTOUN : The ...
... Grief 145 Love me not for comely Grace !. 145 The Tomb of Desire ... 146 Weep no more ! .... 147 Love till death 147 Since first I saw your face 148 On a beautiful Virgin 149 SIR HENRY WOTTON : On his Mistress . SIR ROBERT AYTOUN : The ...
Page 19
... grief on grief doth heap with store , To make her heart of wax alone And not of flint and marble stone ? O Lady ! show thy favour yet : Let not thy servant die for thee ! Where Rigour ruled let Mercy sit ! Let Pity conquer Cruelty ! Let ...
... grief on grief doth heap with store , To make her heart of wax alone And not of flint and marble stone ? O Lady ! show thy favour yet : Let not thy servant die for thee ! Where Rigour ruled let Mercy sit ! Let Pity conquer Cruelty ! Let ...
Page 21
... grief : Born , as I doubt , to all our dole , And to thyself unhappy chief . Sing lullaby , and lap it warm , Poor soul that thinks no creature harm ! Thou little think'st and less dost know The cause of all thy mother's moan ; Thou ...
... grief : Born , as I doubt , to all our dole , And to thyself unhappy chief . Sing lullaby , and lap it warm , Poor soul that thinks no creature harm ! Thou little think'st and less dost know The cause of all thy mother's moan ; Thou ...
Page 27
... of buried ghosts the heavens did pierce , Where Homer's spright did tremble all for grief , And cursed the access of that celestial thief . EDMUND SPENSER . 1552-1598 . PROTHALAMION . Calm was the SIR WALTER RALEIGH . 27.
... of buried ghosts the heavens did pierce , Where Homer's spright did tremble all for grief , And cursed the access of that celestial thief . EDMUND SPENSER . 1552-1598 . PROTHALAMION . Calm was the SIR WALTER RALEIGH . 27.
Page 53
... grief more than death would grieve me . If that any thought in me Can taste comfort but of thee , Let me , fed with hellish anguish , Joyless , hopeless , endless languish ! If those eyes you praisèd be Half so dear as you to me , Let ...
... grief more than death would grieve me . If that any thought in me Can taste comfort but of thee , Let me , fed with hellish anguish , Joyless , hopeless , endless languish ! If those eyes you praisèd be Half so dear as you to me , Let ...
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Common terms and phrases
Ae fond kiss Æneid beauty bel ami BEN JONSON birds bless'd blushing bonnie breast breath bright Cædmon Chaucer cheeks Corydon crown Cuckoo dear death delight divine dost doth earth English Verse eyes fair fate fear fire flame flowers FRANCIS DAVISON GILES FLETCHER glory golden grace grief hair hand happy hast hath hear heart heaven heavenly Heigh hither Hymen JEAN ELLIOT joys King kiss Lady light lilies lips live look Love is dead Love's lovers Lycidas lyre Maid melancholy merry mind Mistress Muse N'oserez-vous ne'er never night nonny nought numbers Nymphs o'er Phœbus pity play pleasure poems poet praise Queen RICHARD BROME rose shade shepherds shine sigh sight sing sleep smile song sonnets sorrow soul Spring stars sweet tears Tell thine things thou art thought Tottel's Miscellany true love unto virtue voice weep wind wings woods wooing o't wrote
Popular passages
Page 223 - Going to the Wars 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.
Page 104 - 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 260 - Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ; The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame...
Page 102 - Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever, One foot in sea and one on shore, To one thing constant never : Then sigh not so, but let them go, And be you blithe and bonny, Converting all your sounds of woe Into Hey nonny, nonny.
Page 198 - Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee Jest and youthful Jollity, Quips, and Cranks, and wanton Wiles, Nods, and Becks, and wreathed Smiles, Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek; Sport that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides.
Page 286 - ... eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire ? And what shoulder and what art Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And, when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand and what dread feet? What the hammer? What the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? What dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp? When the stars threw down their spears, And water'd heaven with...
Page 109 - That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou see'st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west; Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
Page 127 - Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine.
Page 108 - Not marble, nor the gilded monuments Of princes, shall out-live this powerful rhyme ; But you shall shine more bright in these contents Than unswept stone, besmear'd with sluttish time. When wasteful war shall statues overturn, And broils root out the work of masonry, Nor Mars his sword, nor war's quick fire shall burn The living record of your memory.
Page 276 - Toll for the brave! Brave Kempenfelt is gone ; His last sea-fight is fought, His work of glory done. It was not in the battle ; No tempest gave the shock; She sprang no fatal leak, She ran upon no rock. His sword was in its sheath, His fingers held the pen, When Kempenfelt went down With twice four hundred men.