The Works of the British Poets: With Prefaces, Biographical and Critical ...Robert Anderson Arch, 1795 |
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Pàgina 10
... thousand years ago . He loves the raggs fo , as we here obey The state - cloth where the prince fate yefterday . Grants to fuch brave loves will not be inthrall'd , But loves her only who at Geneva is call'd Religion , plain , fimple ...
... thousand years ago . He loves the raggs fo , as we here obey The state - cloth where the prince fate yefterday . Grants to fuch brave loves will not be inthrall'd , But loves her only who at Geneva is call'd Religion , plain , fimple ...
Pàgina 24
... thousand days and nights , Till age fnow white hairs on thee : Thou , when thou return'ft , wilt tell me All ftrange wonders that befell thee , And fwear No where Lives a woman true and fair . If thou find'ft one let me know , Such a ...
... thousand days and nights , Till age fnow white hairs on thee : Thou , when thou return'ft , wilt tell me All ftrange wonders that befell thee , And fwear No where Lives a woman true and fair . If thou find'ft one let me know , Such a ...
Pàgina 39
... thousand I did neither think nor do , Or not divide , all being one thought of you ; Or in a thousand more forgot that too . Yet call not this long life ; but think that I Am , by being dead , immortal . Can ghosts die ? THE PARADOX ...
... thousand I did neither think nor do , Or not divide , all being one thought of you ; Or in a thousand more forgot that too . Yet call not this long life ; but think that I Am , by being dead , immortal . Can ghosts die ? THE PARADOX ...
Pàgina 57
... thousand guiltless fmalls to make one great muft die ? XXXIV . Now drinks he up feas , and he eats up flocks ; He jofties iftands , and he fhakes firm rocks : Now in a roomful house this Soul doth float , And , like a prince , fhe fends ...
... thousand guiltless fmalls to make one great muft die ? XXXIV . Now drinks he up feas , and he eats up flocks ; He jofties iftands , and he fhakes firm rocks : Now in a roomful house this Soul doth float , And , like a prince , fhe fends ...
Pàgina 82
... thousand prayers to faints , whose very names The ancient church knew not , Heav'n knows not yet , And where what laws of poetry admit , Laws of religion have at the least the same , Immortal Maid ! I might invoke thy name . Could any ...
... thousand prayers to faints , whose very names The ancient church knew not , Heav'n knows not yet , And where what laws of poetry admit , Laws of religion have at the least the same , Immortal Maid ! I might invoke thy name . Could any ...
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The Works of the British Poets: With Prefaces, Biographical and ..., Volum 4 Robert Anderson Visualització completa - 1795 |
Frases i termes més freqüents
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
Passatges populars
Pàgina 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.
Pàgina 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.
Pàgina 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...
Pàgina 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.
Pàgina 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...
Pàgina 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...
Pàgina 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...
Pàgina 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.
Pàgina 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.
Pàgina 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...