The Poetical Works of William Basse (1602-1653)

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Ellis and Elvey, 1893 - English poetry - 343 pages
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Page 230 - Heaven doth with us as we with torches do, Not light them for themselves ; for if our virtues Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely...
Page 38 - For mine own good, All causes shall give way : I am in blood Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er : Strange things I have in head, that will to hand ; Which must be acted ere they may be scann'd.
Page 170 - EPITAPH. ON THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE. UNDERNEATH this sable hearse Lies the subject of all verse, Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother : Death, ere thou hast slain another, Fair, and learned, and good as she, Time shall throw a dart at thee.
Page 114 - 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.
Page 125 - Of recreation there is none So free as Fishing is alone ; All other pastimes do no less Than mind and body both possess : My hand alone my work can do, So I can fish and study too.
Page 105 - Ruff, purposely to grace him, and consequently the Solemnity. Dover was constantly there in Person well mounted and accoutred, and was the chief Director and Manager of those Games frequented by the Nobility and Gentry (some of whom came...
Page 123 - I'll promise you I'll sing a song that was lately made at my request, by Mr. William Basse, one that hath made the choice songs of the Hunter in his career, and of Tom of Bedlam, and many others of note ; and this that I will sing is in praise of Angling.
Page xxvi - To scorn delights and live laborious days; But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears, And slits the thin-spun life. "But not the praise...
Page xliii - Ida. Written by that Renowned Poet, Edmond Spencer. London : Printed for Thomas Walkley, and are to be sold at his shop at the Eagle and Child in Britaines Bursse.
Page 126 - As well content no prize to take, As use of taken prize to make ; For so our Lord was pleased, when He fishers made fishers of men : Where, which is in no other game, A man may fish and praise his name. The first men that our Saviour dear Did choose to wait upon him here, Blest fishers were, and fish the last Food was that he on earth did taste. I therefore strive to follow those, Whom he to follow him hath chose.

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