The Works of the British Poets: With Prefaces, Biographical and Critical ...Robert Anderson Arch, 1795 |
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Pagina 37
... Nature falfify'd . Live , Primrose ! then , and thrive With thy true number five ; And women , whom this flower doth reprefent , With this myfterious number be content . Ten is the fartheft number ; if half ten Belongs unto each woman ...
... Nature falfify'd . Live , Primrose ! then , and thrive With thy true number five ; And women , whom this flower doth reprefent , With this myfterious number be content . Ten is the fartheft number ; if half ten Belongs unto each woman ...
Pagina 57
... Nature's great master - piece , an elephant , ( The only harmless great thing ) the giant Of beafts , who thought none had , to make him wife , But to be juft and thankful , loth t ' offend , ( Yet Nature hath giv'n him no knees to bend ) ...
... Nature's great master - piece , an elephant , ( The only harmless great thing ) the giant Of beafts , who thought none had , to make him wife , But to be juft and thankful , loth t ' offend , ( Yet Nature hath giv'n him no knees to bend ) ...
Pagina 58
... Nature ; Nature hath no gaol , though fhe hath law , XLIX . Firft fhe was filly , and knew not what he meant : That virtue , by his touches chaft and spent , Succeeds an itchy warmth , that melts her quite ; She knew not firft , nor ...
... Nature ; Nature hath no gaol , though fhe hath law , XLIX . Firft fhe was filly , and knew not what he meant : That virtue , by his touches chaft and spent , Succeeds an itchy warmth , that melts her quite ; She knew not firft , nor ...
Pagina 63
... Nature then Idly make them apter to endure than men ? They're our clogs , not their own ; if a man be Chain'd to a galley , yet the galley's free . Who hath a plow - land cafts all his feed - corn there , And yet allows his ground more ...
... Nature then Idly make them apter to endure than men ? They're our clogs , not their own ; if a man be Chain'd to a galley , yet the galley's free . Who hath a plow - land cafts all his feed - corn there , And yet allows his ground more ...
Pagina 70
... Nature , by whofe ftrength the world endures , Would change her courfe , before you alter yours . But , oh ! that treacherous breaft , to whom weak you Did truft our counfels , and we both may rue , Having his falfehood found too late ...
... Nature , by whofe ftrength the world endures , Would change her courfe , before you alter yours . But , oh ! that treacherous breaft , to whom weak you Did truft our counfels , and we both may rue , Having his falfehood found too late ...
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The Works of the British Poets: With Prefaces, Biographical and ..., Volumul 4 Robert Anderson Vizualizare completă - 1795 |
Termeni și expresii frecvente
againſt beauty becauſe beft beſt blood breaft caft caufe cauſe courſe death defire doft doth earth elfe eyes fafe faid fair fame fcorn fear feek feem feem'd feen fenfe fhall fhame fhepherd fhew fhine fhould fide fighs fight filk filver fince fing fire firft firſt flain fleep fome fong foon forrow foul fpirits fpring ftand ftate ftill ftreams ftrong fuch fure fwain fweet glory grace grief hand hath heart heav'n himſelf honour itſelf king laft laſt lefs light live loft Lord lov'd moft moſt mufe muft muſt never night nymphs pleaſe pleaſure pow'r praiſe prefent reft rife ſhall ſhe ſpeak ſpent ſtand ſtate ſtay ſtill ſuch ſweet tears thee thefe themſelves theſe thine things thofe thoſe thou thought thouſand unto uſe verfe virtue Whilft whofe whoſe worfe
Pasaje populare
Pagina 537 - 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.
Pagina 536 - While we can, the sports of love. Time will not be ours for ever, He, at length, our good will sever; Spend not then his gifts in vain. Suns that set may rise again: But if once we lose this light, 'Tis with us perpetual night.
Pagina 590 - IF I freely may discover What would please me in my lover, I would have her fair and witty, Savouring more of court than city ; A little proud, but full of pity ; Light and humorous in her toying ; Oft...
Pagina 533 - The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage! My Shakespeare, rise; I will not lodge thee by Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie A little further to make thee a room; Thou art a monument, without a tomb, And art alive still, while thy book doth live And we have wits to read and praise to give.
Pagina 33 - When my grave is broke up again Some second guest to entertain (For graves have learned that womanhead To be to more than one a bed), And he that digs it spies A bracelet of bright hair about the bone...
Pagina 543 - No, Both wills were in one stature ; And as that wisdom had decreed, The Word was now made Flesh indeed, And took on him our nature. What comfort by Him do we win, Who made Himself the price of sin, To make us heirs of Glory ! To see this babe, all innocence, A martyr born in our defence : Can man forget this...
Pagina 590 - Though I am young and cannot tell Either what Death or Love is well, Yet, I have heard they both bear darts, And both do aim at human hearts : And then again, I have been told, Love wounds with heat, as Death with cold ; So that I fear they do but bring Extremes to touch, and mean one thing. As in a ruin we it call One thing to be blown up or fall ; Or to our end, like way may have By...
Pagina 30 - To move, but doth, if th' other do. And though it in the centre sit, Yet, when the other far doth roam, It leans, and hearkens after it, And grows erect, as that comes home. Such wilt thou be to me, who must, Like th' other foot, obliquely run; Thy firmness makes my circle just, And makes me end where I begun.
Pagina 23 - Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run? Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide Late schoolboys and sour prentices; Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride, Call country ants to harvest offices; Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime, Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
Pagina 518 - Seven years thou wert lent to me, and I thee pay, Exacted by thy fate, on the just day. O, could I lose all father, now! For why Will man lament the state he should envy? To have so soon 'scaped world's and flesh's rage, And, if no other misery, yet age! Rest in soft peace; and, asked, say: Here doth lie Ben Jonson his best piece of poetry...