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Alexander Barclay bard behold BEN JONSON Bibliomania boke booksellers bound brain Catullus charm Chaucer colophon Copland dead delight divine doth dream E'en edition Epigrams ev'n ev'ry eyes fair fame fancy fear foes folly fool friends give gold grace hand hath heart JOHN JOHN TAYLOR labour Latin learned leaves LIBRARY light lines Lintot's live look Luperce mighty mind Muse never noble numbers o'er Old story books Ovid pain poem poet poetical poor praise pray printed printer prose rage reader ROBERT COPLANDE ROBERT HERRICK round ROXBURGHE CLUB sacred sage set of verses shine smile song soul spirit sweet taste tell thee theyr thine THOMAS THOMAS CHURCHYARD THOMAS PARNELL thou art thou shalt thought thy Booke translation treasures unto vellum virtue volume wise written Wynkyn Wynkyn de Worde
Page 136 - Homer ruled as his demesne : Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken ; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He...
Page 39 - 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 63 - Wise men have said, are wearisome ; who reads Incessantly, and to his reading brings not A spirit and judgment equal or superior, (And what he brings what needs he elsewhere seek?) Uncertain and unsettled still remains, Deep versed in books, and shallow in himself, Crude or intoxicate, collecting toys And trifles for choice matters, worth a sponge ; As children gathering pebbles on the shore.
Page 38 - To draw no envy, Shakespeare, on thy name, Am I thus ample to thy book and fame, While I confess thy writings to be such As neither man nor muse can praise too much. 'Tis true, and all men's suffrage. But these ways Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise : For...
Page 40 - To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe. He was not of an age, but for all time! And all the Muses still were in their prime, When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm Our ears, or like a Mercury to charm! Nature herself was proud of his designs And joyed to wear the dressing of his lines!
Page 137 - As one who, destined from his friends to part, Regrets his loss, but hopes again erewhile To share their converse and enjoy their smile. And tempers as he may affliction's dart; Thus, loved associates, chiefs of elder art, Teachers of wisdom, who could once beguile My tedious hours, and lighten every toil, I now resign you...
Page 54 - For, with the flowery earth, The golden pomp is come. The golden pomp is come; For now each tree does wear (Made of her pap and gum) Rich beads of amber here. Now reigns the rose, and now Th' Arabian dew besmears My uncontrolled brow And my retorted hairs.
Page 40 - The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes, Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please; But antiquated and deserted lie, As they were not of Nature's family. Yet must I not give Nature all; thy art, My gentle Shakespeare, must enjoy a part.