The Loseley manuscripts: Manuscripts and other rare documents, illustrative of some of the more minute particulars of English history, biography, and manners, from the reign of Henry VIII. to that of James I., preserved in the muniment room of James More Molyneux, esq. at Loseley house, in Surrey ... (Google eBook)
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Page 76 - Give me my scallop-shell of quiet, My staff of faith to walk upon. My scrip of joy, immortal diet, My bottle of salvation, My gown of glory, hope's true gage; And thus I'll take my pilgrimage.
Page 319 - Dr. Donne, I have invited you to dinner, and though you sit not down with me, yet I will carve to you of a dish that I know you love well ; for knowing you love London, I do therefore make you Dean of Paul's ; and when I have dined, then do you take your beloved dish home to your study, say grace there to yourself, and much good may it do you.
Page 139 - God Almighty first planted a garden; and, indeed, it is the purest of human pleasures; it is the greatest refreshment to the spirits of man; without which buildings and palaces are but gross handyworks...
Page 345 - Veritate; if it be for Thy glory, I beseech Thee give me some sign from heaven ; if not, I shall suppress it.
Page 109 - And Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge, With Ate" by his side come hot from hell , Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice Cry "Havoc," and let slip the dogs of war; That this foul deed shall smell above the earth With carrion men , groaning for burial.
Page 345 - Being thus doubtful in my chamber, one fair day in the summer, my casement being opened towards the south, the sun shining clear, and no wind stirring, I took my book, De Veritate...
Page 387 - The king falls into a passion of tears, On my soul, More, I wot not what to do ; thou art a wise man, help me in this great strait, and thou shalt find thou dost it for a thankful master ; with other sad expressions.
Page 76 - ... of quiet, My staff of faith to walk upon, My scrip of joy, immortal diet, My bottle of salvation, My gown of glory, hope's true gage; And thus I'll take my pilgrimage. Blood must be my body's balmer; No other balm will there be given; Whilst my soul, like quiet palmer, Travelleth towards the land of heaven, Over the silver mountains, Where spring the nectar fountains: There will I kiss The bowl of bliss; And drink mine everlasting fill Upon every milken hill. My soul will be a-dry before; But...