The King and the Commons: Cavalier and Puritan Song, Volume 1 (Google eBook)

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Sampson Low, Son, and Marston, 1868 - Ballads, English - 198 pages
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Page 3 - Going to the Wars TELL me not, Sweet, I am unkind, That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast, and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly. True; a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such, As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more.
Page 48 - SWEET day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky, The dew shall weep thy fall to-night, For thou must die.
Page 168 - God's trophies, and his work pursued, While Darwen stream, with blood of Scots imbrued, And Dunbar field, resounds thy praises loud, And Worcester's laureate wreath.
Page 72 - HE that loves a rosy cheek, Or a coral lip admires, Or from star-like eyes doth seek Fuel to maintain his fires ; As old Time makes these decay, So his flames must waste away. But a smooth and steadfast mind, Gentle thoughts and calm desires, Hearts with equal love combined, Kindle never-dying fires. Where these are not, I despise Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes.
Page 83 - You haste away so soon : As yet the early-rising Sun Has not attain'd his noon. Stay, stay, Until the hasting day Has run But to the even-song ; And, having pray'd together, we Will go with you along. We have short time to stay, as you, We have as short a Spring ! As quick a growth to meet decay As you, or any thing. We die, As your hours do, and dry Away Like to the Summer's rain ; Or as the pearls of morning's dew Ne'er to be found again.
Page 116 - The higher he's a-getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting. That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse and worst Times still succeed the former. Then be not coy, but use your time, And while ye may, go marry; For, having lost but...
Page 5 - The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Page 50 - To ALTHEA FROM PRISON WHEN Love with unconfined wings Hovers within my gates, And my divine Althea brings To whisper at the grates ; When I lie tangled in her hair And fetter'd to her eye, The birds that wanton in the air Know no such liberty.
Page 156 - HARRY, whose tuneful and well-measured song First taught our English music how to span Words with just note and accent, not to scan With Midas' ears, committing short and long, Thy worth and skill exempts thee from the throng, With praise enough for Envy to look wan : To after age thou shalt be writ the man That with smooth air couldst humour best our tongue. Thou honour'st verse, and verse must lend her wing To honour thee, the priest of Phoebus' quire, That tun'st their happiest lines in hymn or...
Page 145 - Cause I see a woman kind? Or a well disposed nature, Joined with a lovely feature? Be she meeker, kinder, than Turtle-dove, or pelican, If she be not so to me, What care I how kind she be?

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