The history of English poetry. To which are prefixed, three dissertations. From the ed. of 1824, superintended by R. Price, now further improved (Google eBook)

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1840
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Page 179 - I cannot eat but little meat, My stomach is not good ; But sure I think, that I can drink With him that wears a hood...
Page 197 - With visage grim, stern look, and blackly hued : In his right hand a naked sword he had, That to the hilts was all with blood imbrued; And in his left (that kings and kingdoms rued) Famine and fire he held, and therewithal He razed towns, and threw down towers and all...
Page 419 - Whiles his young master lieth o'er his head. Second, that he do, on no default, Ever presume to sit above the salt. Third that he never change his trencher twice. Fourth, that he use all common courtesies, Sit bare at meals, and one half rise and wait. Last, that he never his...
Page 455 - Proud lust-stung Tarquine, seeking still to prove her, Romeo, Richard, more whose names I know not, Their sugred tongues and power attractive...
Page 44 - Laura a veder la crudele agitazione, io cui essa sola lo ha posto. face non trovo , e non ho da far guerra ; E temo, e spero, ed ardo, e son un ghiaccio; E volo sopra '1 cielo, e giaccio in terra; E nulla stringo, e tutto '1 mondo abbraccio...
Page 193 - And first within the porch and jaws of Hell Sat deep Remorse of Conscience, all besprent With tears: and to herself oft would she tell Her wretchedness, and cursing never stent...
Page 204 - Served only to discover sights of woe, Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace And rest can never dwell...
Page 373 - In our forefathers tyme, whan Papistrie, as a standyng poole, couered and ouerflowed all England, fewe bookes were read in our tong, sauyng certaine bookes of Cheualrie, as they sayd, for pastime and pleasure, which, as some say, were made in Monasteries, by idle Monkes or wanton Chanons: as 'one for example, Morte Arthure...
Page 125 - But canst Thou, tender Maid, canst Thou sustain Afflictive Want, or Hunger's pressing Pain ? Those Limbs, in Lawn and softest Silk array'd, From Sun-beams guarded, and of Winds afraid ; Can they bear angry JOVE ? Can they resist The parching Dog-star, and the bleak North-East ? When...
Page 221 - Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York ; And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths ; Our bruised arms hung up for monuments ; Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.

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