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Page 90 - And we will sit upon the rocks, Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. And I will make thee beds of roses And a thousand fragrant posies, A cap of flowers, and a kirtle Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle...
Page 10 - ... or much of it ; but for the generality, three or four flies, neat and rightly made, and not too big, serve for a trout in most rivers all the summer. And for winter fly-fishing — /'/ is as useful as an almanac out of date ! And of these (because as no man is born an artist, so no man is born an angler] I thought fit to give thee this notice.
Page 210 - Calls my fleeting soul away : Oh ! suppress that magic sound, Which destroys without a wound. Peace, Chloris, peace, or singing die, That together you and I To heaven may go ; For all we know Of what the blessed do above, Is, that they sing, and that they love.
Page 123 - The dew shall weep thy fall to-night ; For thou must die. Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie. My music shows ye have your closes. And all must die. Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like seasoned timber, never gives ; But though the whole world turn to coal, Then chiefly lives.
Page 92 - A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten; In folly ripe, in reason rotten. Thy belt of straw and ivy buds, Thy coral clasps and amber studs, All these in me no means can move, To come to thee and be thy love.
Page 92 - The rest complains of cares to come. The flowers do fade, and wanton fields To wayward Winter reckoning yields: A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break...
Page 208 - While by his side his faithful spouse hath place; His little son into his bosom creeps, The lively picture of his father's face; Never his humble house or state torment him; Less he could like, if less his God had sent him ; And when he dies, green turfs, with grassy tomb, content him.
Page 127 - I IN these flowery meads would be : These crystal streams should solace me; To whose harmonious bubbling noise I with my angle would rejoice. Sit here, and see the turtle-dove Court his chaste mate to acts of love; Or on that bank, feel the west wind Breathe health and plenty; please my mind. To see sweet dewdrops kiss these flowers. And then...
Page lxiv - Angler? I asked you the question once before : it breathes the very spirit of innocence, purity, and simplicity of heart. There are many choice old verses interspersed in it. It would sweeten a man's temper at any time to read it; it would Christianise every discordant angry passion. Pray make yourself acquainted with it.