Reliques of ancient English poetry, by T. Percy. Repr. entire from the author's last ed. With memoir and critical dissertation, by G. Gilfillan

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1858
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Page 216 - The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Page xciv - I never heard the old song of Percy and Douglas that I found not my heart moved more than with a trumpet...
Page 179 - 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 217 - Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill: But their strong nerves at last must yield; They tame but one another still: Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow, Then boast no more your mighty deeds; Upon Death's purple altar now See, where the victor-victim bleeds: Your heads must come To the cold tomb; Only the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom...
Page 255 - HOW happy is he born and taught That serveth not another's will; Whose armour is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill...
Page 255 - Who God doth late and early pray, More of his grace than gifts to lend, And entertains the harmless day, With a religious book or friend. This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise, or fear to fall ; Lord of himself, though not of lands, And having nothing, yet hath all.
Page 178 - With coral clasps and amber studs: And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me, and be my love.
Page 210 - The cries of men lying in their gore, And scattered here and there. At last these two stout erles did meet, Like captaines of great might; Like lyons wood they layd on lode, And made a cruell fight.
Page 236 - Croesus' wealth a straw; For care, I care not what it is; I fear not fortune's fatal law; My mind is such as may not move For beauty bright, or force of love. I wish but what I have at will; I wander not to seek for more; I like the plain, I climb no hill; In greatest storms I sit on shore, And laugh at them that toil in vain To get what must be lost again.
Page 189 - For whereas twenty men were wont To wait with bended knee : She gave allowance but to ten, And after scarce to three : Nay, one she thought too much for him: So took she all away, In hope that in her court, good king, He would no longer stay. Am I rewarded thus, quoth he.

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