Petrarch and His Influence on English Literature

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Nicholas Zanichell, 1906 - English literature - 135 pages
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Page 41 - It was from the capricious and over-strained invention of the Italian poets, that Wyat was taught to torture the passion of love by prolix and intricate comparisons, and unnatural allusions. At one time his love is a galley steered by cruelty through stormy seas and dangerous rocks; the sails torn by the blast of tempestuous sighs, and the cordage consumed by incessant showers of tears : a cloud of grief envelops the stars, reason is drowned, and the haven is at a distance P.
Page 66 - I wish for night, more covertly to plain ; And me withdraw from every haunted place, Lest by my chere my chance appear too plain. And in my mind I measure pace by pace, To seek the place where I myself had lost, That day that I was tangled in the lace, In seeming slack, that knitteth ever most.
Page 66 - I, alas, against all others use, That then stir up the torments of my breast, And curse each star as causer of my fate. And when the sun hath eke the dark...
Page 40 - I will not yet in my grave be buried ; Nor on my tomb your name have fixed fast, As cruel cause, that did the spirit soon haste From th' unhappy bones, by great sighs stirred.
Page 95 - Well was I, while under shade Oaten reeds me music made, Striving with my mates in song ; Mixing mirth our songs among. Greater was the shepherd's treasure Than this false, fine, courtly pleasure.
Page 54 - OF HIS LOVE CALLED ANNA. HAT word is that, that changeth not, Though it be turned and made in twain? It is mine Anna, God it wot, The only causer of my pain ; My love that meedeth1 with disdain. Yet is it loved, what will you more ? It is my salve, and eke my sore.
Page 132 - POEMS OF LOVE in honour of the admirable and singular virtues of his Lady. To the imitation of the best Latin Poets, and others. WHEREUNTO is ADDED The Rising to the Crown of RICHARD THE THIRD.
Page 42 - Sometimes it is a gun, which being overcharged, expands the flame within itself, and bursts in pieces. Sometimes it is like a prodigious mountain, which is perpetually weeping in copious fountains, and sending forth sighs from its forests; which bears more leaves than fruits; which breeds wild-beasts, the proper emblems of rage, and harbours birds that are always singing. In another of his sonnets, he says, that all nature sympathises with his passion. The woods resound his elegies, the rivers stop...
Page 128 - I am so liberal to grant thus much, a man may write of love and not be in love, as well as of husbandry and not go to the plough, or of witches and be none, or of holiness and be flat profane.
Page 98 - Oh that the ocean did not bound our style, Within these strict and narrow limits so, But that the melody of our sweet isle Might now be heard to Tiber, Arne, and Po That they may know how far Thames doth outgo The music of declined Italy.

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