Spenser

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Page 116 - I that was wont to behold her riding like Alexander, hunting like Diana, walking like Venus, the gentle wind blowing her fair hair about her pure cheeks, like a nymph; sometime sitting in the shade like a Goddess; sometime singing like an angel; sometime playing like Orpheus. Behold the sorrow of this world! Once amiss, hath bereaved me of all.
Page 110 - Full little knowest thou that hast not tride, What hell it is, in suing long to bide : To loose good dayes, that might be better spent...
Page 102 - If music and sweet poetry agree, As they must needs, the sister and the brother, Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me, Because thou lov'st the one, and I the other. Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch Upon the lute doth ravish human sense ; Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such, As, passing all conceit, needs no defence.
Page 136 - What judgment I had increases rather than diminishes ; and thoughts, such as they are, come crowding in so fast upon me, that my only difficulty is to choose or to reject ; to run them into verse or to give them the other harmony of prose.
Page 4 - CALM was the day, and through the trembling air Sweet-breathing Zephyrus did softly play A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay Hot Titan's beams, which then did glister fair; When I (whom sullen care, Through discontent of my long fruitless...
Page 5 - Fit to deck maidens' bowers, And crown their paramours Against the bridal day, which is not long : Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. There in a meadow by the river's side A flock of nymphs I chanced to espy...
Page 122 - I have followed all the antique Poets historicall ; first Hornere, who in the Persons of Agamemnon and Ulysses hath ensampled a good governour and a vertuous man, the one in his Ilias, the other in his Odysseis...
Page 181 - WHEN I bethinke me on that speech whyleare Of Mutability, and well it way ; Me seemes, that though she all unworthy were Of the heav'ns rule, yet, very sooth to say, In all things else she beares the greatest sway: Which makes me loath this state of life so tickle, And love of things so vaine to cast away; Whose flowring pride, so fading and so fiekle, Short Time shall soon cut down with his consuming sickle!
Page 102 - twixt thee and me, Because thou lov'st the one, and I the other. Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch Upon the lute doth ravish human sense ; Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such As, passing all conceit, needs no defence. Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound That Phoebus...

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