The Barons' Wars, Nymphidia, and Other Poems

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George Routledge & Sons, 1887 - Всего страниц: 288

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Стр. 246 - Since there's no help, come, let us kiss and part! Nay, I have done. You get no more of me! And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart, That thus so cleanly I myself can free. Shake hands for ever! Cancel all our vows! And when we meet at any time again, Be it not seen in either of our brows That we one jot of former love retain.
Стр. 209 - And turn his weapon from him. Himself he on an earwig set, Yet scarce he on his back could get, So oft and high he did curvet, Ere he himself could settle : He made him turn, and stop, and bound, To gallop, and to trot the round, He scarce could stand on any ground, He was so full of mettle.
Стр. 193 - Fairies still, Nor never can they have their fill, As they were wedded to them ; No tales of them their thirst can slake, So much delight therein they take, And some strange thing they fain would make, Knew they the way to do them.
Стр. 221 - This new rich Novice, lavish of his chest, To one man gives ! doth on another spend ! Then here he riots ! yet, amongst the rest, Haps to lend some to one true honest friend. Thy Gifts, thou in obscurity dost waste ! False friends, thy Kindness ! born but to deceive thee. Thy Love that is on the unworthy placed ! Time hath thy Beauty, which with age will leave thee!
Стр. 259 - And when that once Pueriles I had read, And newly had my Cato construed, In my small...
Стр. 226 - Which ceaseth not to tempt me to each ill, Nor gives me once but one poor minute's rest; In me it speaks, whether I sleep or wake, And when by means to drive it out I try, With greater torments then it me doth take, And tortures me in most extremity; Before my face it lays down my despairs, And hastes me on unto a sudden death, *° Now tempting me to drown myself in tears, And then in sighing to give up my breath. Thus am I still provoked to every evil By this good wicked spirit, sweet angel devil.
Стр. 198 - He would not have abode it. She mounts her chariot with a trice, Nor would she stay for no advice, Until her maids that were so nice To wait on her were fitted ; But ran herself away alone, Which when they heard, there was not one But hasted after to be gone, As she had been diswitted.
Стр. 202 - This Puck seems but a dreaming dolt, Still walking like a ragged colt, And oft out of a bush doth bolt, Of purpose to deceive us ; And, leading us, makes us to stray, Long winters nights out of the way, And when we stick in mire and clay, He doth with laughter leave us.
Стр. 194 - Jove prosper my proceeding! And thou, Nymphidia, gentle fay, Which, meeting me upon the way, These secrets didst to me bewray Which now I am in telling: My pretty light fantastic maid, I here invoke thee to my aid, That I may speak what thou hast said, In numbers smoothly swelling.

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