England's Helicon: A Collection of Pastoral and Lyric Poems, First Published at the Close of the Reign of Q. Elizabeth

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Sir Egerton Brydges, Joseph Haslewood
T. Bensley, 1812 - 248 Seiten
 

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Seite 212 - Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,— In folly ripe, in reason rotten. Thy belt of straw and ivy buds, Thy coral clasps and amber studs, All these in me no means can move , To come to thee and be thy love.
Seite ix - New perfumed with flowers fresh growing, Astrophel with Stella sweet Did for mutual comfort meet; Both within themselves oppressed, But each in the other blessed. Him great harms had taught much care, Her fair neck a foul yoke bare; But her sight his cares did...
Seite xix - Beauty sat bathing by a spring Where fairest shades did hide her ; The winds blew calm, the birds did sing, The cool streams ran beside her My wanton thoughts enticed mine eye To see what was forbidden : But better memory said, fie ! So vain desire was chidden : — Hey nonny nonny...
Seite 147 - Love in my bosom like a bee Doth suck his sweet: Now with his wings he plays with me, Now with his feet. Within mine eyes he makes his nest, His bed amidst my tender breast; My kisses are his daily feast, And yet he robs me of my rest. Ah, wanton, will ye?
Seite xxxviii - Nature herself her shape admires ; The Gods are wounded in her sight ; And Love forsakes his heavenly fires And at her eyes his brand doth light...
Seite xiii - ... that smooth song which was made by Kit Marlow, now at least fifty years ago; and the milkmaid's mother sung an answer to it, which was made by Sir Walter Raleigh in his younger days. They were old-fashioned poetry, but choicely good, I think much better than the strong lines that are now in fashion in this critical age.
Seite vii - Within mine eyes he makes his nest, His bed amidst my tender breast ; My kisses are his daily feast, And yet he robs me of my rest : Ah ! wanton, will ye...
Seite 161 - Grant, O grant, but speech, alas, Fails me fearing on to pass, Grant, O me what am I saying? But no fault there is in praying. "Grant, O dear, on knees I pray...
Seite 90 - Yet what is love? Good shepherd, sain. — It is a sunshine mixed with rain ; It is a tooth-ache, or like pain ; It is a game where none doth gain ; The lass saith no, and would full fain ; And this is love, as I hear sain. Yet, shepherd, what is love, I pray? — It is a yea...
Seite 90 - A thing that creeps, it cannot go, A prize that passeth to and fro, A thing for one, a thing for moe ; And he that proves shall find it so ; And, shepherd, this is love, I trow.

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