The Works of the English Poets, from Chaucer to Cowper: Including the Series Edited with Prefaces, Biographical and Critical, Volume 5 (Google eBook)
J. Johnson, 1810 - English poetry
What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
angels ayre bear beauty behold Ben Jonson blood bloud body breast breath breed COUNTESS OF BEDFORD dead dear death delight disdaine dost doth Earth EPIGRAM errour ev'ry eyes face fair falne fame farre fear fire flames foes foul give glory God's grace grief grone hand hast hate hath heart Heaven honour JOHN DONNE king kiss light live look Lord loue lov'd love's lust mind Muse never night nought once paine pleasure poet poison'd poor pow'r praise pride prince quoth rage rest SATIRE SATIRE IV scape scorne seem'd sense Shakspeare shame shine sight sinne sonne SONNET soul sprite straight strange Sunne sweet tears thee thine things thou art thought thrall thyself tongue true truth twixt unto verse vertue vex'd virtue weep Whil'st wound wretched
Page 65 - Take, oh, take those lips away, That so sweetly were forsworn ; And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn : But my kisses bring again, bring again ; Seals of love, but seal'd in vain, seal'd in vain.
Page 46 - When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste...
Page 63 - Crabbed age and youth Cannot live together ; Youth is full of pleasance, Age is full of care: Youth like summer morn, Age like winter weather ; Youth like summer brave, Age like winter bare. Youth is full of sport, Age's breath is short, Youth is nimble, age is lame : Youth is hot and bold, Age is weak and cold ; Youth is wild, and age is tame. Age, I do abhor thee, Youth, I do adore thee ; O, my love, my love is young ! Age, I do defy thee ; O sweet shepherd, hie thee, For methinks thou stay'st...
Page 56 - O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide, The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, That did not better for my life provide Than public means which public manners breeds. Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, And almost thence my nature is subdued To what it works in, like the dyer's hand.
Page 514 - 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. I sent thee late a rosy wreath, Not so much honouring thee As giving it a hope that there It could not withered be; But thou thereon didst only breathe And sent'st it back to me; Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, Not of itself but thee!
Page 55 - FROM you have I been absent in the spring, When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim, Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing, That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him. Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell Of different flowers in odour and in hue, Could make me any summer's story tell...
Page 50 - Being your slave, what should I do but tend Upon the hours and times of your desire ? I have no precious time at all to spend, Nor services to do, till you require. Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, Nor think the bitterness of absence sour When you have bid your servant once adieu ; Nor dare I question with my jealous thought Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought Save, where you are how...
Page 70 - Sigh, no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever ; One foot in sea, and one on shore ; To one thing constant never : Then sigh not so, But let them go, And be you blithe and bonny ; Converting all your sounds of woe Into Hey nonny, nonny.
Page 50 - Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity, once in the main of light, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, And nothing stands but...