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Page 89 - I conjure you, by that which you profess, (Howe'er you come to know it,) answer me : Though you untie the winds, and let them fight Against the churches ; though the yesty waves Confound and swallow navigation up; Though bladed corn be lodg'd, and trees blown down; Though castles topple on their warders...
Page 164 - DAFFODILS FAIR Daffodils, we weep to see You haste away so soon : As yet the early-rising Sun Has not attained his noon. Stay, stay, Until the hasting day Has run But to the even-song ; And, having prayed together, we Will go with you along.
Page 175 - To come forth, like the spring-time, fresh and green, And sweet as Flora. Take no care For jewels for your gown or hair ; Fear not, the leaves will strew Gems in abundance upon you ; Besides the childhood of the day has kept Against you come, some orient pearls unwept.
Page 175 - There's not a budding boy or girl this day But is got up and gone to bring in May. A deal of youth ere this is come Back, and with white-thorn laden home.
Page 176 - And some have wept, and woo'd, and plighted troth, And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth : Many a green-gown has been given ; Many a kiss, both odd and even : Many a glance, too, has been sent From out the eye, love's firmament : Many a jest told of the keys betraying This night, and locks pick'd : — yet we're not a Maying.
Page 119 - ... did, in an extraordinary manner, afflict them with such distempers as their bodies were most subject to, as particularly appeared in these children ; for he conceived, that these...
Page 165 - Twas pity Nature brought ye forth Merely to show your worth, And lose you quite. But you are lovely leaves, where we May read how soon things have Their end, though ne'er so brave : And after they have shown their pride Like you, awhile, they glide Into the grave.
Page 170 - AH Ben ! Say how or when Shall we, thy guests, Meet at those lyric feasts, Made at the Sun, The Dog, the Triple Tun ; Where we such clusters had, As made us nobly wild, not mad ? And yet each verse of thine Out-did the meat, out-did the frolic wine. My Ben ! Or come again, Or send to us Thy wit's great overplus ; But teach us yet Wisely to husband it, Lest we that talent spend ; And having once brought to an end That precious stock, — the store Of such a wit the world should have no more.