Social Life Under the Stuarts
G. Richards, 1904 - 273 sider
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Side 43 - What things have we seen Done at the Mermaid! Heard words that have been So nimble and so full of subtle flame As if that every one from whence they came Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest, And had resolved to live a fool the rest Of his dull life.
Side 15 - Come, my Corinna, come ; and coming, mark How each field turns a street : each street a Park Made green, and trimm'd with trees : see how Devotion gives each House a Bough, Or Branch : Each Porch, each door, ere this, An Ark a Tabernacle is Made up of white-thorn neatly enterwove ; As if here were those cooler shades of love.
Side 215 - ... his answer was, that the thought of what he had done would prove music to him at midnight, and that the omission of it would have upbraided and made discord in his conscience, whensoever he should pass by that place. " For if I be bound to pray for all that be in distress, I am sure that I am bound, so far as it is in my power, to practise what I pray for. And though I do not wish for the like occasion every day, yet let me tell you, I would not willingly pass one day of my life without comforting...
Side 12 - ... which broke their waves, and turned them into foam : and sometimes I beguiled time by viewing the harmless lambs, some leaping securely in the cool shade, whilst others sported themselves in the cheerful sun ; and saw others craving comfort from the swollen udders of their bleating dams. As I thus sat, these and other sights had so fully possessed my soul with content, that I thought, as the poet has happily expressed it, " I was for that time lifted above earth, And possessed joys not promised...
Side 42 - Soul of the age! The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage! My Shakespeare, rise! I will not lodge thee by Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie A little further, to make thee a room: Thou art a monument without a tomb, And art alive still while thy book doth live And we have wits to read and praise to give.
Side 10 - No life, my honest Scholar, no life so happy and so pleasant as the life of a well-governed Angler ; for when the lawyer is swallowe'd up with business, and the statesman is preventing or contriving plots, then we sit on cowslip banks, hear the birds sing, and possess ourselves in as much quietness as these silent silver streams, which we now see glide so quietly by us.
Side 16 - By whose tough labours, and rough hands, We rip up first, then reap our lands. Crown'd with the eares of corne, now come, And, to the Pipe, sing Harvest home.
Side 11 - Look ! under that broad beech tree I sat down, when I was last this way a-fishing ; and the birds in the adjoining grove seemed to have a friendly contention with an echo, whose dead voice seemed to live in a hollow tree near to the brow of that primrose hill.
Side 12 - Trust me, master, it is a choice song, and sweetly sung by honest Maudlin. I now see it was not without cause that our good Queen Elizabeth did so often wish herself a milk-maid all the month of May, because they are not troubled with fears and cares...
Side 12 - Her voice was good, and the ditty fitted for it: it was that smooth song which was made by Kit Marlow now at least fifty years ago. And the milk-maid's mother sung an answer to it which was made by Sir Walter Raleigh in his younger days.