The Poetical Works of William Shakespeare and Ben Jonson, Bände 1-2

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Houghton, Osgood and Company, 1879 - 686 Seiten

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Inhalt

PREFACE
iii
EPIGRAMS
xii
To King James V On the Union 7
xxviii
On the New Hothouse 8
xxviii
On Something that walks somewhere 9
xxviii
To Doctor Empiric 11
xxviii
On Courtworm 12
xxviii
To the learned Critic 13
xxviii
To the same Sir Cod 14
xxviii
TO John Donne 15
xxviii
To the Parliament 16
xxviii
On Dou Surly 17
xxviii
To Person Guilty 19
xxviii
To the Same 20
xxviii
To the Ghost of Martial 21
xxviii
On Old Colt 22
xxviii
On Giles and Joan 23
xxviii
On Robert Earl of Salisbury 24
xxviii
To the Same 26
xxviii
To King James upon the happy false ru mor of his death the two and twentieth day of March 1607 27
xxviii
On Cheveril 28
xxviii
On Poetape 29
xxviii
On Bawds and Usurers 30
xxviii
To Fool or Knave 31
xxviii
To the Same upon the accession of the treasurership to him 32
xxviii
To my Muse 33
xxviii
To Thomas Earl of Suffolk 34
xxviii
On Playwright 35
xxviii
To William Roe 36
xxviii
To Thomas Lord Chancellor Egerton 37
xxviii
On Lippe the Teacher 38
xxviii
On Lucy Countess of Bedford 39
xxviii
To Hornet 40
xxviii
Of Life and Death 41
xxviii
To Lucy Countess of Bedford 42
xxviii
To the Same 43
xxviii
On English Monsieur 44
xxviii
On Mill my Ladys Woman 46
xxviii
To Sir Horace Vere 47
xxviii
The New Cry 48
xxviii
To Sir John Ratcliffe 49
xxviii
To Lucy Countess of Bedford with Mr Donnes Satires 50
xxviii
To Sir Henry Savile 51
xxviii
To John Donne 53
xxviii
To Sir Thomas Roe 54
xxviii
To the Same 55
xxviii
Inviting a Friend to Supper 56
xxviii
To William Earl of Pembroke 57
xxviii
To Mary Lady Wroth 58
xxviii
To Mistress Philip Sidney 68
xxviii
To Sir William Jephson 70
xxviii
On Groine 71
xxviii
Epitaph on S P a Child of Queen Eliza beths Chapel 72
xxviii
To Benjamin Rudyerd 73
xxviii
To the Same 74
xxviii
To his Lady then Mistress Cary 75
xxviii
To William Roe 76
xxviii
To Mime 77
xxviii
To the Same 79
xxviii
To Mr Joshua Sylvester 80
xxviii
On the Famous Voyage 81
xxviii
THE FOREST
xxviii
Why I write not of Love 93
xxviii
To Sir Robert Wroth 98
xxviii
To the World 102
xxviii
To Celia 105
xxviii
To the Same 106
xxviii
That Women are but Mens Shadows 107
xxviii
To Celia 109
xxviii
Præludium 110
xxviii
112
xxviii
Epistle to Elizabeth Countess of Rutland 117
xxviii
Epistle to Katharine Lady Aubigny 121
xxviii
UNDERWOODS
xxviii
A Celebration of Charis in Ten Lyric Pieces
xxviii
An Ode to James Earl of Desmond
xxviii
A Sonnet to the Noble Lady the Lady Mary Wroth 192
xxviii
An Epigram to the SmallPox
xxviii
Tis true Im broke
xxviii
Let me be what I
xxviii
A Speech according to Horace
xxviii
An Epistle answering to one that asked to be sealed
xxviii
An Epigram to the Honored Countess
xxviii
Epistle to Mr Arthur Squib
xxviii
An Epigram to William Earl of Newcastle 252
xxviii
An Epigram on the Princes Birth
xxviii
To the Right Honorable the Lord High Treasurer
xxviii
or a Song concerning the same 273
xxviii
Fair friend tis true your beauties
289
move
312
To the Most Noble and above his Titles Robert Earl
317
To the Memory of my Beloved Master William
323
Epitaph on the Countess of Pembroke
329
Epitaph on Michael Drayton
335
To the Worthy Author of The Husband
341
The Kiss
383
INDEX OF First Lines
389
292
395

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Seite xxviii - 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.
Seite 153 - Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date...
Seite 269 - Where the bee sucks, there suck I ; In a cowslip's bell I lie : There I couch*. When owls do cry, '} \ On the bat's back I do fly, After summer, merrily : Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
Seite 184 - Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell: Nay, if you read this line, remember not The hand that writ it; for I love you so, That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, If thinking on me then should make you woe.
Seite 277 - Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow And coughing drowns the parson's saw And birds sit brooding in the snow And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-whit; Tu-who...
Seite 180 - When I have seen the hungry ocean gain Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, And the firm soil win of the watery main, Increasing store with loss, and loss with store ; When I have seen such interchange of state, Or state itself confounded to decay, Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate — That Time will come and take my Love away : — This thought is as a death, which cannot choose But weep to have that which it fears to lose.
Seite 288 - T^EAR no more the heat o' the sun -*- Nor the furious winter's rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages : Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Fear no more the frown o' the great, Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; Care no more to clothe, and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak: The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust. Fear no more the...
Seite xxviii - A lily of a day Is fairer far, in May, Although it fall and die that night; It was the plant and flower of light. In small proportions we just beauties see; And in short measures life may perfect be.
Seite 217 - Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently swayst The wiry concord that mine ear confounds, Do I envy those jacks, that nimble leap To kiss the tender inward of thy hand, Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap, At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand! To be so tickled, they would change their state And situation with those dancing chips, O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait, Making dead wood more bless'd than living lips. Since saucy...
Seite 41 - Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest, From his moist cabinet mounts up on high, And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast The sun ariseth in his majesty ; Who doth the world so gloriously behold, That cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold.

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