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anapaests Arber Astrophel and Stella Barnabe Barnes Beaumont beauty Ben Jonson birds breast Breton bright Bullen Campion couplet death delight desire Dirge Donne doth Drayton Drummond earth Elizabethan Elizabethan lyric England's Helicon English eyes Faery Queen fair fancy fear Fleay Fletcher flowers golden grace Gram Greene grief Grosart hath heart heaven honor imitation Italian John Donne John Fletcher Jonson kiss lady live Love's lovers Lyrics from Elizabethan lyrists madrigal Masque metre metrical mistress Muse never night passion pastoral Phyllis play pleasure poem Poetical Rhapsody poetry poets praise pretty printed quatorzain Queen rimes Robert Greene sense Shakespeare shepherd Sidney sighs sing sleep Song Books sonnet sorrow soul Spenser spring stanza sweet content tercets thee Thomas Thomas Dekker Thomas Lodge Thomas Nashe thou art thought trochaic unto verse wanton weep whilst words writing written
Page xix - My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red than her lips' red: If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses...
Page 87 - Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove. O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Page 154 - Full fathom five thy father lies; Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : Hark! now I hear them, — ding-dong, bell.
Page 122 - ... mistress mine, where are you roaming ? O, stay and hear; your true love's coming, That can sing both high and low: Trip no further, pretty sweeting; Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man's son doth know.
Page 13 - Come, Sleep, O Sleep, the certain knot of peace, The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe, The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, The indifferent judge between the high and low!
Page 122 - Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid ; Fly away, fly away, breath ; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it ! My part of death, no one so true Did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweet, On my black coffin let there be strown...
Page 86 - No longer mourn for me when I am dead Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell : Nay, if you read this line, remember not The hand that writ it ; for I love you so That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot If thinking on me then should make you woe.
Page 128 - He is dead and gone, lady, He is dead and gone, At his head a grass-green turf, At his heels a stone.
Page 84 - When, in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries And look upon myself and curse my fate. Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd, Desiring this man's art and that man's scope.